


Leave the Light On

by killerqueer, VentureTrain



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - You've Got Mail Fusion, Body Worship, Demisexual Crowley, Demisexuality, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gabriel is a dick, In this house we respect Sex Workers, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Misunderstandings, Phone Sex, Phone Sex Operator Crowley, Slow Burn, anathema is here to be an abrasive american and peddle crystals and she's all out of crystals, and also maybe crowley, aziraphale is soft and REAL self conscious, crowley just wants him to love himself, gratuitous and unremorseful Gabriel bashing, more tags to come, some fatphobia here friends but not from crowley or anyone we actually like, this is really just an excuse for us to project our own shit on aziraphale but what fic isn't???
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2020-10-05 09:37:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 49,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20486753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerqueer/pseuds/killerqueer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VentureTrain/pseuds/VentureTrain
Summary: The You've Got Mail But With Phone Sex AU that nobody asked for.Azra's life is turned upside down when his partner of two years breaks up with him, seemingly out of nowhere, and kicks him out of their shared flat. Well,Gabriel'sflat. Left to start over on his own, he ends up living above the bookshop and below his incredibly rude landlord, who seems to insist on having incrediblyloudintercourse at all times of day.Meanwhile, in a moment of loneliness, he finds himself doing something he has never considered, and calls a phone sex line. Oh, and he might just be falling in love with the operator.





	1. We Should Have a Chat

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! This is a collab fic by killerqueer and VentureTrain, and it's our first Good Omens fic!
> 
> We just wanted to give a CW for the very beginning of this chapter - the fic starts with Aziraphale and Gabriel in a relationship, and has them having some pretty terrible sex and then Gabriel breaking up with Aziraphale while saying some pretty terrible things.
> 
> We've added some anchor links here for you to skip one or both of those things if they will be triggering for you:
> 
> Click here to skip just the Gabriel sex scene.  
Click here to skip the Gabriel stuff entirely.
> 
> We hope you'll stick with us!

Azra screwed his eyes shut in concentration, his fingers grasping at the sheets on either side of him. Gabriel’s fingers gripping his hips were anything but gentle, and the only noise coming from the man behind him were deep huffs of his breath as he moved against Azra; the occasional grunt with a particularly forceful, if still lackluster, thrust.

“Like that?” Gabriel asked against the back of Azra’s neck, hardly sounding affected by the exertion at all. 

Azra’s only response was something halfway between a groan and a sigh, which Gabriel seemed to take as an affirmative, fingers continuing to pinch uncomfortably at the soft flesh of Azra’s hips as he moved.

Gabriel’s chest draped lazily over Azra’s back and for a moment, Azra felt a small amount of the closeness that they had shared when they first met, even just physically. He craned his neck, turning over his shoulder in an attempt to catch Gabriel’s lips in a kiss, but as soon as his jaw brushed his own shoulder, Gabriel all but jerked back until his spine was practically ramrod straight. The resulting ache in Azra’s chest was distinctly familiar, but at this point he should have been used to it. He couldn’t remember the last time Gabriel had kissed him in bed.

He could feel his eyes begin to sting; it was always worse when he actually made an effort. If he just took what Gabriel gave him, without asking for more, it never hurt quite as badly. He wasn’t going to cry. That would make it worse.

Gabriel was too far gone in his own pleasure to notice Azra's hurt expression. His fingers tightened on Azra’s hips and a few more forcefully uncomfortable thrusts had him finishing with a groan. Azra was almost thankful. It wasn’t anything resembling ‘good,’ and Gabriel had taken very little care to make sure he was ready and it hadn’t been especially comfortable, but he wasn’t going to turn down anything Gabriel was willing to offer him, even if it was lackluster sex.

As Gabriel stood and walked towards the door, Azra rolled over and watched as he flicked the lights back on without so much as a glance back to where his boyfriend was still laying in bed and retreated to the bathroom. A few moments later he could hear the shower running. 

He sighed, bone-deep and weary, and pulled a pillow to his chest to bury his face in it, pretending for just a moment that the lingering scent of Gabriel’s expensive shampoo was enough to satisfy him.

He only remained where he was for a moment longer however; Gabriel’s showers were notoriously short and if Azra was still in bed when he exited the bathroom, he would be sure to catch a patented eyeroll, or a comment about laziness. Forcing himself out of bed, he pulled his linen pajama trousers from the floor where Gabriel had unceremoniously tossed them, and made his way towards the bathroom himself. If he brushed his teeth, there was a chance Gabriel might kiss him goodbye.

Thankfully, Gabriel hadn’t locked the door behind him and as he opened the door, the steam rushed out at him.

“Careful with the sink!” Gabriel called lazily from the shower, and Azra sighed. Of course the temperature of the water was all Gabriel was thinking about, not minutes after they had just had sex.

He turned the water on just enough to wet his toothbrush before twisting the faucet back into place and as he began to brush, the stream of water in the shower turned off abruptly. He looked over, shooting Gabriel a somewhat hopeful smile around his toothbrush as he stepped out of the shower door.

The returning expression was more of a grimace than anything else as Gabriel reached for his towel and began to dry himself off. Azra turned back to the sink, spitting into the bowl.

“Do you have time for a bit of breakfast before you go?” He asked quietly, before returning the toothbrush to his mouth, already knowing what the answer would be.

“You already brushed your teeth,” Gabriel said, his voice flat as he secured the towel around his hips. “We should have a chat.”

_ Oh. _

“Oh… Er, we should?” Azra’s heart sunk.

“Yes. I don’t say things I don’t mean, Azra, you know that. You shouldn’t ask me to repeat myself.”

Azra could practically hear the eyeroll as he looked away to rinse his toothbrush.

“If you think about it real hard, I’m sure you already know what I’m going to say.”

“Er, yes, I… I rather think I do.” Azra couldn’t help but feel humiliated, nothing had even been said, but Gabriel had always had a way of making him feel small. In the figurative sense, at least.

“You’re boring, Azra,” Gabriel said without preamble. “We don’t work. This,” he gestured between them, “isn’t working. I can barely even stand to look at you when I fuck you. We have to end this.”

“What?”

Azra’s breath was coming up short, and he vaguely wondered if this was what being in shock felt like. 

He had meant it when he agreed that he knew where this conversation was going, but he had never in his life imagined Gabriel would be this cruel.

“I mean,” Gabriel continued, as if Azra hadn’t spoken at all. “Look at you, and look at me. You’ve completely let yourself go. I can’t be seen in public with someone who looks like you, what does that say about _ me _ ? Maybe if you lost the gut, but even _ then. _”

His eyes were stinging again, and this time he wasn’t sure how long he would be able to keep them under control.

“Gabriel, _ please_, let’s… Let’s _ talk _ about this. We’ve been together for _ two years _ dear, this is our _ home _. We can fix this.”

“This is _ my _home Azra. I’d like you to be gone when I get home from work.”

“Where am I supposed to go?” Azra asked weakly, feeling as if his knees might buckle and holding himself steady as best as he could.

“That isn’t really my problem, now is it? You’ve got a couch in that stuffy bookshop of yours, don’t you?”

“Well, yes, but--”

“Then it’s settled. I brought you some boxes home from work, they’re in my office downstairs.” 

Azra stood there silently, gaping up at Gabriel, unable to understand what could possess him to be so truly awful.

“Close your mouth, that’s not at all attractive.”

Instinctively, he obeyed, mouth snapping shut and the hurt in his expression going completely ignored by Gabriel who took a few steps towards the door before stopping and turning back.

“Goodbye Azra.”

And then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, Gabriel bent over to leave a perfunctory, emotionless kiss to Azra’s forehead, as if he was checking an item off a to do list. Without any further ado, he was stalking out the door and shutting it behind him in Azra’s face.

Azra wasn’t sure how long he stood there, but as he did he was acutely aware of the muffled noises of Gabriel going about the rest of his morning routine in the next room, as if nothing had even happened. 

There was something doubly awful about listening to the man he loved, the man who’d crushed his heart not even moments before, going about his morning without him, like he’d never even been there. Gabriel’s come was steadily trickling down his leg, sticking the linen of his trousers uncomfortably to his skin, and Gabriel had already forgotten about him. He felt frozen in place, the tears that had been threatening to fall as Gabriel walked out the door suddenly dry and gone, his throat tight and unsure of how to proceed.

He wasn’t sure which was worse, the prospect of having to walk past Gabriel in the bedroom, or being such a coward that he hid right where he was until Gabriel had left. The shower was right there however, and he didn’t think he could face the man in the other room, so it seemed like the universe had made that decision for him with that one saving grace.

With shaky steps, he moved towards the still open shower door, and reached for the valve, quietly wondering if it were, in fact, possible to drown oneself with only the spray of a shower head?

\--

By the time Anathema and Newt rang the doorbell, Azra had numbly dragged the boxes out to the living room; his things strewn haphazardly. Each item that had once had a treasured space, a _ home, _ in this flat that he and Gabriel had shared now awkwardly out of place, much like he himself felt. He was grateful for the interruption, because if he had to spend one more moment staring at the framed photograph of he and Gabriel last year at his birthday and trying to figure out what the devil he was to do with it, he thought he might go mad.

Gratefully, he set it back down on the coffee table and made his way to the door.

“Congratulations,” Anathema said as soon as Azra opened the door.

“She means, ‘sorry to hear about Gabriel,’” Newt supplied, following behind her.

“I meant what I said, dear.”

The words stung with a painful familiarity from earlier this morning, but Anathema was smiling fondly up at Newt as she spoke, so very dissimilar to the cold stare Gabriel had leveled at him in their bathroom.

“Thank you, both of you, for your help.” Azra interrupted, smiling nervously and ushering them both inside. “I’m very grateful for your assistance. Can I offer either of you something to drink?”

He really _ was _ grateful for the two of them. Anathema was a regular customer of his from the bookshop who had quickly involved herself in his life and become quite a close friend. One of his only friends, he now feared, making him feel even more lucky for her persistence. He highly doubted that Michael or Uriel would have any interest in speaking to him now that he and Gabriel were no longer… attached.

He was glad at least to realize that he didn’t feel as though that was much of a loss. Gabriel’s friends had always seemed to look down on him in a way that, he’d thought, Gabriel hadn’t. He supposed he was wrong about that. 

“No, let’s just get this over with. I don’t like the energy in here,” Anathema said distastefully. “Rubs me the wrong way. Just like Gabriel.”

“Well.” Azra clapped his hands together. “I’ve nearly got everything boxed up. I’ll just need help with the, ah… moving.” The word was bitter on his tongue. Moving had been the last thing from his mind. He knew, of course, that things with Gabriel were deteriorating, but _ surely _ two years together were worth more than a few minutes in a cold, cramped bathroom and empty boxes in the office.

“Is this all you have?” Newt asked, eyeing the small stack of boxes sat on the otherwise spotless floor. 

“Gabriel’s is a more Spartan aesthetic. He isn’t a fan of clutter. Luckily most of mine has remained at the bookshop, as a result.” 

“Sounds like you were living with him instead of the two of you living together,” Anathema said.

“Well, it _ is _ his flat.” Gabriel had made that abundantly clear earlier.

“You lived here _ together_, Azra, if that’s the justification he gave you I’m going to hex him even harder, you know.”

“Oh dear, you needn’t do anything of the sort. This sort of thing just… happens sometimes, despite everyone’s best efforts.” 

Privately, Azra, as he thought more about it, realized he probably didn’t make enough of an effort. He might have tried a little harder to keep Gabriel interested, took better care of himself, made himself more engaging and more available and just… _ more. _He’d never been quite good enough for Gabriel, even at the beginning. He should have tried harder to keep him.

“Azra.” Anathema’s voice cut through, sharp and clear. “Whatever you’re thinking right now, I expect you to _ stop _ right now. I can guarantee you not a word of it is true and whatever you’re thinking about yourself, you should be thinking much worse about that complete prick of an ex boyfriend.”

_ Ex boyfriend. _

It was the first time Azra had framed Gabriel as an _ ex_, and he didn’t like it one bit. The loss was even sharper, even more blinding in the light of that horrible word. Surely there was something gentler? Former, previous, last, _ estranged _ even, but never _ ex _. Something about ‘ex’ felt too final.

“Uh… come on, mate, why don’t you show me what you want to move first, yeah?” Newt’s ever awkward, but sweet voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and Azra was somewhat embarrassed to see the look he was giving Anathema.

_ Leave the poor sod alone_, it seemed to say. Though realistically, he knew Newt would never think of him in such unkind terms. 

“Of course.” Azra was grateful for the opportunity to shift his focus elsewhere. “Just these. Shouldn’t take long.” He gestured to the small stack of boxes with a watery smile. “Ever so grateful for the help.”

As Anathema and Newt turned towards the door with the first of the boxes, Azra paused, looking back at the table, and quickly shoved the framed photograph he had been staring at into the last of the boxes.

He was right of course, it took hardly any time at all to get the few boxes he had packed into the boot of Newt’s dreadfully named car. Really, it was for the best that Azra’s collection of miscellania remained at the bookshop; he wasn’t sure the car would have been able to handle much more.

It was more painful than Azra expected, locking the door behind him and watching their… no, _ Gabriel’s_, flat leave his line of sight as the car pulled away. He stayed quiet for most of the ride, lost in terrible contemplation.

Mercifully, Anathema and Newt hadn’t pressed for more conversation as they made their way to SoHo, though he assumed this was more due to Newt’s mercy than Anathema’s. He could tell she was biting back sentiments that were sure to spill out sooner rather than later, and be rather _ scathing _ indeed. Regardless, he was grateful for the opportunity to regain his composure before it was gone entirely until the calming, reassuring sight of his beloved bookshop could be seen as they rounded the corner.

Newt pulled the car to the kerb and parked it before turning to Azra in the back seat. “You sure you don’t want to come to ours for a few days?”

“Quite sure, thank you.” While it was true that the bookshop had very little by way of actual home amenities, he needed the comfort of something familiar now more than he needed the comfort of… comfort. Besides, it did at least have a small kitchenette in the back room, he would manage while he figured something out long term.

Just as packing had, unpacking took very little time at all. Much of what _ had _been at Gabriel’s was either clothes or books, and the books found their homes in the back shelves of the shop; the ones that held his private collection, which customers were not permitted access to. The clothes, for now, simply remained in their boxes in the back room. After all… he didn’t have much in the way of variety, Gabriel was right about him being plain.

“How about a spot of tea?” He asked suddenly, sniffing and attempting an air of indifference as he did so, plastering on a polite smile for his friends and gesturing towards the kettle he had just unpacked.

Anathema shoot Newt a look and they both nodded in unison.

“Ta, we’d love to,” Newt said, pointedly ignoring the fact that his friend was likely on the verge of tears. He wasn’t entirely keen on the idea of leaving Azra alone in the shop anyway; tea would provide an easy excuse to keep him from being alone for just a bit longer. 

Azra gestured towards the overstuffed couch and armchairs that Gabriel had mentioned earlier, but finding that he was easily able to manage a genuine smile for his friends this time around. After all, there was nothing a bit of tea couldn’t fix.

He left them in the chairs and moved into the kitchen, switching on the kettle as he moved with practiced ease through the little space. Brewing tea was almost like a ritual to him, and the familiar actions soothed the remainder of his nerves that remained frayed. 

By the time the tea was finished, he was smiling again, momentarily numb from the shock of the day, and walked the tea out on a tray to his guests.

“Two sugars for you, Anathema, and Newt, just milk,” he said, passing off the mugs to each of them in turn. 

“Azra.” Anathema started as soon as he had sat down to join them, his own tea in hand. Here it was, everything she had wanted to unload in the car, and he braced himself.

“Gabriel is _ insufferable _. We all thought it and no one said it to your face because we love you and you loved him. But he is.”

There went that lovely numbness. “He isn’t really,” Azra protested. It sounded weak even to his own ears. “You just have to know him.”

“_Wine _ is an acquired taste, not people. It is a _ struggle _ to get through a five minute conversation with his stupid, pompous, smug face. He did you a favor. But I'm still going to fucking put a curse on him.”

“While I appreciate the sentiment, Anathema dear, that is _ truly _ unnecessary. If not for Gabriel’s sake, for mine; Whether he deserves it or not,” he paused to hold up a hand as she opened her mouth to interrupt, “and I _ know _ you think he does, I would feel truly terrible were something to happen to him.”

Anathema held his gaze in a hard stare for a moment before sighing deeply. “Next time I bring you back a crystal ward from South America, you’d better not turn it down.”

He couldn’t help but smile at that.

“Of course, dear.”

“No, I’m serious, Azra. You met him _ right _ after you turned it down.”

“We’re _ not_,” Newt cut in, looking pointedly at Anathema, “of course, saying any of this is your fault though, Azra.” He smiled reassuringly at Azra.

They were a good pair, he thought to himself, a bittersweet feeling overtaking him. He’d thought the same about he and Gabriel.

“Of course not,” Anathema agreed hurriedly. “But the crystal would have helped, is all I’m saying. 

Azra sighed, finally feeling the weight of what had happened that morning sinking down on him. He looked up at Anathema and Newt questioningly.

“What am I going to do, dear?”

“Well,” Anathema starting, expression finally softening. “Today, you’re going to try to relax. Don’t open the bookshop - or do, if you need the distraction. But you’re just going to have to make it through today. And tomorrow we’ll deal with tomorrow.”

One day at a time. He could do that.

“I’ll have to find a new flat.”

“And you’ll make it your own. Not Gabriel’s, it’ll be yours.”

“Mine,” Azra echoed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

After two years of _ ours_, ‘mine’ felt rather hollow. 

\--

Azra awoke on the sofa with a crick in his neck. In books, when a person found themselves in a situation such as his, they always seemed to wake up and forget for a moment what had happened to them the day before and where they were. If he had to hazard a guess, the blame for the lack of this transitional experience was entirely on the cushions he was sunken into. He never would have felt like this upon waking up in Gabriel’s bed. He had grown used to the firm mattress that Gabriel insisted on over the last two years, and as much as he used to long for the softness of sinking into a cloud of a bed, his back could no longer tolerate the squashy, overstuffed sofa.

Generally speaking, Azra was quick to rise. He wasn’t one to linger in bed longer than he had to, eager to greet the day and start on whatever it would bring him. Today, however, he had no such eagerness. He sat on the edge of the little sofa, rolling his neck and shoulders to ease the crick, and stared at the opposite wall. The weight of the previous day’s events settled on him like a boulder between his shoulder blades, and he wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to stand with it pushing him down. 

If he could stand to continue laying down on the sofa and let the rest of the world pass him by for the rest of the day he might. But the shop needed his attention. Keeping it running smoothly was more of a priority than ever now that he would have only himself to depend on. 

He knew that Anathema had suggested to take a day for himself but he had as yet managed to keep himself from crying, and if he were to keep the shop closed and stew, that dam was bound to burst. He wasn’t ready to let go of that one last shred of dignity. Not yet at least.

Besides, the bookshop had opened every day except bank holidays and Christmas at nine o’clock sharp, and he wasn’t about to change that today. If there was one thing he could control, it was his bookshop. The one thing Gabriel had never been able to (nor wanted) to have any part of. The one thing that had always been and always would be Azra’s.

His morning routine was shortened significantly by the sheer lack of space and supplies in the bookshop, and he found himself ready to throw the doors open much earlier than usual, which was less than ideal considering any opportunity for an idle thought might be what finally pushes him over the edge. He looked around for something to keep him busy until the clock struck a merciful nine.

He may as well hunt for a flat. Too many more nights on this sofa would just be adding significant insult to injury.

Gathering up his tea and walking up to the till, he powered on the ancient desktop computer that sat on the counter, steadily gathering dust. He hadn’t wanted to have one in the shop at all, but now he felt lucky to have it as he waited for the poor thing to sputter to life. It seemed to be hanging on by a thread, and Azra felt a sort of kinship with it in that regard.

“You and I are quite alike today, my dear,” he muttered to the machine, the words coming out as more of a sigh than anything else.

After what felt like an eternity, the monitor came alive and Azra opened up a browser window, hesitating on the search bar, the cursor blinking back at him with a sense of finality. Things with Gabriel were well and truly over.

He could hardly keep dwelling however, _ Carry On _ and all that, and so he took a moment to steady himself before resentfully pulling up _ Google _ to search for flats_, _thus beginning the first day of the rest of his life. 

After navigating through a series of categories, Azra was faced with a seemingly endless list of stark blue letters. How anyone was expected to comb through all that was beyond him. He came across something mildly promising, a newly renovated one bedroom just a few miles from central London, but a quick once over of the content of the advertisement had him choking with indignation at the price.

Another seemingly promising advertisement went into great detail about how desirable the poster found the prospect of renting his guest room to a young, nubile woman eager to please. Azra hadn’t been able to finish reading.

There had to be another option.

There _ was _ a flat above him, which he had declined to rent out in addition to the bookshop in favor of moving in with Gabriel - the most foolish decision he had ever made, he’s now realizing.

He vaguely remembered receiving a letter from his former landlord when he sold the building, and the paperwork from the change in management was around the shop somewhere. He hadn’t ever heard anyone moving about in the flat upstairs, and he had assumed it was just good insulation but now his heart leapt at the possibility that the flat might be _ empty _.

Bustling into the back room where he meticulously kept his business and tax documents, he crouched down in front of the filing cabinet, pulling open the second drawer down and rifling through until he found the manila folder that contained his rental agreement. Sure enough, behind the lease, was an unfolded letter from his previous landlord, and down at the bottom, highlighted in yellow should he ever need use of it, was the name and telephone number for the new building owner.

Anthony J. Crowley  
020 8576 8560

_ Finally_, something was going right.

He shut the filing cabinet, taking the letter with him to grab his telephone off the wall and, with a cursory glance at the clock - it was a quarter to eight, not too early, he was sure, eagerly punched in the numbers.

The phone rang in his ear, once, twice, and then on and on for so long without going to voicemail that he almost hung up. But he sorely needed to reach this Anthony Crowley, the sooner the better, and it had to go to voicemail at _ some point_, mustn’t it?

After what felt like an eternity, the ringing broke and a gruff voice, rough with sleep, cut through the line.

“_What?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we hope you enjoyed! we'd love to hear your feedback :) feel free to leave a comment and/or come say hi on tumblr!!
> 
> [@enbyziraphale](https://enbyziraphale.tumblr.com) and [@artist-formerly-known-as-crawley](https://artist-formerly-known-as-crawley.tumblr.com)


	2. The Boyfriend Experience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's sleep is disturbed at a ridiculously early hour, Azra comes up to his flat for his new keys, and Crowley takes a call from one of his regulars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your feedback on the last chapter!! We loved reading your comments - sorry it took a little while for us to get back to you, but just know that reading them made our day and we messaged each other about each and every one!!
> 
> We're so glad you liked the last one and, to get you through the Monday blues, we hope you'll enjoy chapter two!

“Er, excuse me…” The voice chattered on through the other line. Whoever it was had clearly faltered at the sound of his tone. Crowley couldn’t help but feel satisfied at their discomfort, considering they had just woken him up after barely a few hours of sleep. “My name is Azra Fell, I rent out the bookshop on the first floor of your building? I was--”

“D’you know what bloody time it is?” Crowley interrupted shortly.

There was a brief silence.

“Er, quarter to eight, I believe… I’m quite sorry to have disturbed you, I had, mistakenly I see now, assumed that you might be awake, or at least that I’d be able to leave you a voice message.”

His tone was apologetic, but Crowley was tired and he couldn’t find much room in his heart to be forgiving.

“What do you _ want?_” The longer the call dragged on, the longer Crowley had to be _ awake _ and the sweet call of unconsciousness was loud behind his eyes.

“Right!” The voice was clearly fighting to stay chipper and pleasant. “As I was saying, my name is Azra Fell--”

“_Yes_, I got that already, what is the point of this call? How may I _assist you?_” This last part came out snide and high-pitched, a mockery of a customer service voice while his annoyance grew by the second.

“Yes, alright, well… I was wondering - the flat above my bookshop. Is it currently being rented out? You see, I had been given the opportunity to rent it when I took out the lease on the shop but I had other living arrangements which have, quite suddenly, I’m afraid, fallen through and--"

God, this man was not going to stop chattering on was he?

“You mean you’re not already living there?”

“Pardon?”

“The flat above the shop, the one below me, don’t you already live there?”

“Do I already… no I don’t already live there, why… Nevermind. Should I take this to mean that the flat is available then?”

It took Crowley’s sleep addled brain a moment to process what Fell was saying. Here he’d thought he’d just had an overly courteous neighbor. He’d never heard a peep out of the resident of the second flat, and he supposed that now he knew why. “It’s available, yeah,” he said finally. “Since you’re not actually living there. Nice of you to finally mention.”

“Well, that’s excellent news! First bit of good news I’ve had in this whole ordeal in fact - might I be safe in presuming it’s available for me to rent _now_, then?” Fell was maintaining his ever chipper voice on the other line, but Crowley was well versed in parsing tone over the phone and he could tell the man was straining to remain polite.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you want, just for the love of _Christ_, please wait until a decent and human hour to move your damned furniture in.” Crowley pushed a hand through his hair in annoyance. “Is that all?”

“Oh excellent! But yes, there is one more thing, what about the rent?”

Now the wanker was expecting him to do _math? _

“Whatever. It’s… included in the rent for your shop. I don’t care. Will you _please_ get off the damned phone and let me get back to sleep?” 

As he spoke, a heavy, scaly head knocked against his hip, testy that the warm spot had been disturbed. Bloody George. Accursed, stubborn creature. He knew good and well he wasn’t meant to be in the bed. Crowley used the arm that wasn’t currently occupied with his mobile to shove (or rather, try to shove,) the massive black snake away from him but George didn’t budge. 

“I’ll get some revised paperwork drawn up or, or sent down, or… _hell,_ I don’t know. Just move into the damned flat and _don’t_ call me back.” With that, Crowley ended the call and slammed the phone back on the nightstand. 

His head thumped back onto the pillow, and to his horror, he realized he was properly awake. 

He sent a silent curse downstairs, or wherever that oh-so-prim-and-proper little ponce had been calling from, and swore, sitting up with a groan. He swung his legs over the side of the bed with just a little bit of trouble as George’s immense weight pinned the blankets around him.

“Bloody snake,” he grumbled, finally pulling himself free. He linked his hands over his head and gave a luxurious stretch, popping what had to be every single vertebrae in his spine before lowering his arms and sauntering his way to the kitchen. It was too damned early for anything but coffee.

He busied himself with the coffee machine, trying very hard not to take his annoyance at having been woken up at such a godforsaken hour out on the poor thing and failing pretty miserably at it. He slammed the top down with just a little bit too much force and glared at it as he flipped it on, willing the coffee to _brew faster or else._

The machine shook at the force with which he jabbed at the buttons, and glowered at it until he saw the coffee begin to drip out. With that he whirled around and made for the cabinets to grab a mug before slamming the doors closed again and waiting, foot tapping impatiently as he leaned against the counter, waiting for the machine to be done.

As soon as there was enough in the pot to fill his mug, he grabbed for it. Pouring the contents out, he ignored the continuing steady drip which now sizzled and burned on the base of the machine until he returned the pot to its rightful place.

Evidently, enough time had passed that the lingering warmth under the sheets had faded because George was now coiled up in the square of sunlight that hovered in the hallway from his picture windows. Or at least as much in the square as he could manage, and he balefully lifted his head, tasting the burnt coffee in the air with something that might have been judgment. Crowley scowled at him. 

“What are you staring at, you freeloader? It’s not like you’ve got anything on today.”

George lowered his head and Crowley rolled his eyes before tossing back nearly half of the coffee in a single go, wincing at both the bitterness and the temperature, but desperate for the caffeine. It had been awhile since he’d been awake this early and his body was not well adjusted to things like the combination of _morning sunlight_ and _consciousness._

He felt a little bit more alive by the time the pot had finished brewing and poured himself another, making a face at the scalded coffee that was now baked onto the burner which he’d have to clean later. 

He took the time to make the coffee how he liked it this time, two creams and two sugars, before making his way to his austere living room, rolling his eyes at George who, for all Crowley could tell considering the lack of things like eyelids, had dozed off again.

“Lazy,” he commented, stepping over part of his tail that was spread out across the hallway. “Can’t even keep your singular limb to yourself.”

Arranging his multiple limbs on the sofa, Crowley set aside the coffee on the end table to cool. He wasn’t used to having so much time in the mornings. It was far too early to start work; his few daytime regulars wouldn’t start calling for another few hours at least, and the one-offs not until after dark. Absentmindedly, he flipped on the television, planning on ignoring it completely while he focused on the more traditional business aspects of his work.

And it _was_ work, what he did. It’s not like he just spent the day in his pajamas, twirling a phone cord around his finger. It was exhausting, mentally taxing, and just as difficult as any other odd job he’d taken over the years before settling into this. But despite the downsides, there was a reason he _had_ settled on it. He was good at it, he worked when he wanted to, and made a lot more money than he ever did in any of his previous gigs. Especially after he started his own line, rather than working for Madame Tracy for a pound a sodding minute.

He pulled his laptop from where it sat on his coffee table, sprawling his legs across the sofa and situating it on his thighs, heaving a sigh as he contemplated what he could possibly do to waste the next _five hours_ before he would normally even be contemplating consciousness. Looking disdainfully down at his closed laptop, he shoved it onto the couch cushion beside him, ignoring it as well as the idea of doing any semblance of work this early in the morning, in favor of staring mindlessly at the television.

\--

A rapid and insistent banging was the first thing that he heard upon waking for the second time that day, and for a moment, he almost screamed out of frustration.

“_What?_” He yelled, as he dragged himself off the couch, nearly tripping over George who had situated himself neatly between the couch and the coffee table. “What could you possibly want _now_?”

He knew, without even opening the door, that it would be the owner of that bookshop once again. By the time he reached the door to wrench it open and glower at the man properly, he’d gone somewhat red in the face and knew he must look rather mad.

“Do you know what time it is? I thought I told you to _wait a few goddamn hours._”

The face on the other side of the door wasn’t exactly what Crowley expected. He was slightly shorter than Crowley, though not by much, and his messy blonde curls in combination with his wide blue eyes, and upturned nose were annoyingly attractive, in fact. But the combination of shock and ire on his face was a little bit more in line with his mental image of the man he’d spoken to earlier.

“Noon? Or, just past noon actually. I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t expect to wake you again, considering several hours _have_ passed since we last spoke.”

Crowley must have dozed off for longer than he had thought. The dawning awareness that he might have slept through his first regular client’s call forced him to take a few steps back from the doorway to check the clock to reassure himself that he hadn’t actually missed it. Relieved to find he still had just under a quarter of an hour, he sighed, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand, before realizing the slight tone in the other man’s voice and rounding on him once again.

“Again, I do hate to bother you,” the man spoke, cutting off Crowley’s diatribe before he could begin. Crowley had the feeling that he didn’t hate to bother him at all. “However, I realized I’ll need the key in order to move in. Do you happen to have one on hand?”

The key. Right.

“There’s one around here somewhere.” With that, Crowley shut the door in Fell's face and made for the little office he kept in the back of the flat. A ring of keys that had been shoved into his hands along with the closing paperwork when he’d bought the place and he was pretty sure it had been tossed into a drawer and forgotten.

Hastily, he dug through the detritus of his bottom desk drawer and retrieved the key ring. He still had to be ready for his first call and every second he wasted on this tenant was a second he’d need.

Slamming the drawer closed with more force than could possibly be necessary, he tore back into his kitchen and wrenched the door open, revealing once again the bewildered face of the bookshop’s owner.

“It’s one of these,” he said, tossing the keyring across the threshold of the door, not caring whether the man caught them or not. “Figure it out. I’ll come get the rest from your shop later. Don’t come back.”

With that, he slammed the door in the man’s face once again and locked it behind him.

Inconvenience handled, Crowley set about getting ready to start the day. 

He made for the kitchen and hastily dumped a generous portion of the cold, stale coffee from earlier into the dirty mug along with his usual portion of cream and sugar. He gulped down a few swallows, grimacing at the temperature, as well as the taste, as if he expected it to be anything but cold and bitter. Without the heat to dissolve it, the sugar had just sunk to the bottom of the mug to congeal, and the cream alone was doing nothing to help.

Choking down a few more bitter sips, he retrieved his laptop from the coffee table, logged into the billing system, and grabbed his bluetooth earpiece from where he had left it on the kitchen table the previous night.

He managed to get everything up and running just as his first regular of the day called in.

“Hi, honey,” he says warmly into the phone after only a single ring, putting on an easy smile and finally relaxing into his work. He always was good at turning off his personal life when he got on the phone, it was one of the things that made him so good at this job. And Owen was always such a sweet guy.

“Hello, Rich.”

Owen’s voice was warm on the other end of the line, and Crowley could tell from his voice that he was smiling.

“How was work?” Owen worked nights, making him one of Crowley’s few regular daytime callers, and he was definitely a favorite.

“Oh, same as always,” Owen said. “I was thinking about you all night.”

“Is that so?” Crowley smiled into his headset. It could be difficult to find an in with Owen sometimes, although his characteristic shyness had been fading more and more in recent weeks as he came out of his shell. An opening like this was too good to pass up. “What were you thinking about? Your hands on me? My hands on you?”

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves. Why don’t you tell me how your day’s going first?”

And there it was. Owen preferred the ‘boyfriend’ experience, it was never that easy. Not that his calls with Owen could really ever be considered a chore, especially compared to some of the others.

“Well, it looks like I’ve got a new neighbor moving in, which I learned about by being woken up at the crack of dawn,” he said, not minding sharing at least versions of the truth of certain parts of his life with callers like Owen.

“Poor baby,” Owen laughed into the phone, knowing as well as Crowley did that he was exaggerating, but playing into it all the same. 

“I need my beauty sleep,” Crowley said with a flair of drama. “I have a _routine._”

“I’m sure you do, but I doubt it’s really that necessary. I’d be willing to bet that you’d look gorgeous no matter what.”

“Such a charmer,” he purred. “You’re too good to me, Owen. A dearth of sleep would do anyone in. Let’s just hope this isn’t an ongoing trend, or I’ll have to invest in a brown paper bag to put over my head.”

“Never,” Owen said emphatically. “That’d be a bloody crime.”

“Maybe I’m a criminal.”

“Perish the thought.”

Crowley laughed. “You’re right. I’m sure there are better things to think of.”

Crowley could hear the warmth seeping into Owen’s voice. “Oh? Like what?”

“Like you. It’s only fair, isn’t it? You’ve been thinking of me all night, after all.”

“I have,” Owen agreed. “And to answer your earlier question, I’ve been thinking about my hands on you.”

“Mmh, that sounds nice...where are you putting them?”

“On your hips, pulling you closer to me.”

“Is that all?” Crowley pouts, standing up from the sofa and picking up his coffee mug from the table and returning to the kitchen. “Just my hips? Just to get me closer?”

He smiled as he went about his business, letting Owen take control of the conversation as he collected the coffee pot from the machine and dumped the remains down the drain. He kept the faucet on low to ensure Owen couldn’t hear the water as he rinsed the dishes and then went about filling up the dishwasher.

“Maybe not just your hips, not for long, but you’re still wearing your clothes and there isn’t much for me to do.”

“I can fix that, you know,” Crowley purred, pulling out a detergent tab and slotting it into place in the washer. 

“Oh no, let me. You know how much I love uncovering that gorgeous body of yours.”

Crowley shut and locked the door and turned the timer, dashing away from the machine as it started grumbling to life to make sure Owen didn’t hear anything amiss. “Going to strip me, are you?”

“Well, what am I working with today?”

Crowley looked down to his rumpled sleep shirt and sweatpants. “Nothing fancy,” he said. “A black button down and jeans. You’ve caught me midday.”

“I can work with that. It gives me the opportunity to take my time with your buttons and kiss every single inch that undoing them exposes.”

Crowley went for the plastic plant mister he kept on the windowsill over his sink and headed into the living room, to inspect his plants and glare at them if necessary. Spraying those that needed it, he made an appreciative noise into the phone, before placing the mister on the windowsill and reaching for his watering can.

Phone sex with Owen was always the same. He was pretty easy to please, and never wanted anything at all out of the ordinary. Crowley could almost do it on autopilot at this point; Owen had been calling once a week for almost four months. He’d even followed him over from Madame Tracy’s line, never once complaining about the rate increase that came with the move. He was eager to please and got off more on the fantasy that they were actually in a relationship, rather than the phone sex they were having; he just wanted to feel loved.

And in a way, that was what most of his callers wanted in some way shape or form. They wanted someone to care about them, to listen to their problems, to give them something no one in their real lives was giving them. And yeah, they also just wanted to talk about coming all over his face while he cleaned his flat.

Sure, it wasn’t not necessarily the career he’d grown up dreaming of, but he was good at what he did, and, for the most part, it was easy work. He really was shit at almost everything else. He’d never lasted long at office jobs, and if he was being honest, he was a pretty terrible employee no matter what the job was. He was much better off working for himself, and this allowed him to do that. A chance encounter with a newspaper advertisement several years prior had steered him in the direction of Madame Tracy, and the rest had been history and money in the bank.

Crowley made the appropriate noises as Owen began describing how he wanted to suck his cock, making sure not to knock the framed drawings he was dusting too hard in fear of making a sound. 

“Do you like that?” Owen asked, and Crowley moaned loudly in response. 

“You know I do, babe,” he murmured, knowing how much Owen loved it when Crowley used pet names for him. “Do you like having my cock in your mouth?”

It was Owen’s turn to moan.

“You taste so good. I’m so hard just thinking about it.”

“I can feel it through your trousers,” Crowley said, wandering back into the kitchen and opening the fridge to stare at the contents. “So hot and firm against my leg.”

Crowley made a mental note to take a trip to Tesco later to replenish his dwindling supply of groceries as he grabbed a few stray vegetables to begin chopping for a fry-up. He didn’t usually like to cook while working, but Owen was generally predictable enough that any distraction his preparations might have caused was minimal at best, and Owen never noticed if he seemed a little bit unfocused. 

He fished the cutting board out from the cabinet and freed a knife from the block on his counter, chopping the vegetables into bite sized pieces as he groaned and breathed heavily into the phone.

“Let me touch you,” he breathed, making sure his voice came out ragged and pushing as much desperation into it as he could, as he finished julienning his carrots. He glanced at the clock above the stove, noting that they had already been on the phone for almost forty-five minutes. Unlike most of his clients, Owen preferred to draw things out and, even more incredibly, liked to stay on the line after everything was said and done for a little bit of afterglow.

Crowley certainly didn’t mind, considering the longer Owen stayed on the line, the more money he got. Definitely better than the guys who called when they were already halfway through wanking, and just got him on the line to hear his voice, cum, and hang up in the span of just a few minutes.

By the time all the vegetables were cut and Crowley had spent the better part of five minutes describing in excruciating detail all the ways in which he was ‘touching’ Owen.

“Please,” Owen groaned into his ear, breath coming in stilted gasps. “Please, Rich, let me fuck you.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Crowley breathed, dumping the vegetables into a skillet and pouring in some oil. “You’re such a tease, touching me like that when you know all I want is your cock.”

“It’s such a waste to cut right to the main event, don’t you think? Spread your legs for me, gorgeous.”

Crowley took a few steps away from the cooktop as the oil in the skillet began to sizzle. “I’m ready,” he purred. “I want to feel your fingers inside me Owen, I need you.”

Owen’s voice was low and tight as he began describing to Crowley everything he was doing to prepare him, with Crowley enthusiastically responding with high, keening whimpers and moans while lazily stirring his cooking. 

The rest would be much the same as it always was. Crowley would cry out and gasp in time with Owen’s ragged breathing until Owen unleashed a cry of his own and went quiet to catch his breath. The predictability was nice, something to look forward to amid the chaos of his usual callers. One of the draws for his customers was his wild imagination, but sometimes he liked the disconnect that came with structure. 

“Oh _fuck_…” a choked noise was coming out of Owen’s throat. “Fuck, I love you, Rich.”

Crowley sighed, disguising it with a moan as he did. Owen did this sometimes, and not just him; lots of callers would tell him they loved him in the heat of the moment, but it was one boundary he himself never crossed with his clients. He had become a pro at deflecting confessions of love at this point.

“You feel so good,” Crowley moaned. “I love what you do to me, love when you’re like this, Owen. Don’t stop.”

“I’m so close… love being inside you, are you almost there?”

“I’m so close baby, God,” Crowley whined as he tipped the vegetables out of the pan and onto his plate. “You don’t know what you do to me!”

“Let me watch you come, sweetheart. Can you do that? Can you come for me?”

He reached for the bottle of olive oil on the counter and tipped a dime sized amount into his palms, holding them up closer to the ear piece. He gripped his hands together and used the sound of slicked skin on skin to make it sound like he was actually jerking himself off as he cried out, dramatic as ever as he ‘came’.

Owen made a sound that Crowley couldn’t quite identify and then a few more that were more familiar as he finished himself off, his breath heavy and loud in Crowley’s earpiece. With most of his clients, this would be where the call ended, but Owen remained on the line as his breathing evened out and he made a little contented noise. 

“You were incredible, as always,” he murmured. “I’m so lucky.”

“As were you,” Crowley grinned a little into the phone. “Got anything exciting happening for the rest of your day?”

Owen huffed out a laugh in response.

“There’s never anything more exciting than this, Rich,” he hummed. “You know you’re always the highlight of my Wednesdays.” 

Owen really was sweet. Under different circumstances, Crowley’s feelings toward him might have been a bit different, but work was work, and Owen was well… Owen. “You flatterer.”

“It’ll get me everywhere, or so I hear,” Owen teased, and Crowley could practically hear him winking through the phone.

“It gets you pretty far with me at any rate,” Crowley teased back. “Take care of yourself this week, yeah?”

“You too, love. Talk to you next week.”

The line went dead in his ear and Crowley took his plate to the table in the hopes of managing at least a few bites before another call came in. Eating on the phone only worked when he was pretending to suck someone off, otherwise clients tended to get tetchy when they could hear him chew.

He nearly lost the carrot he’d impaled on his fork when a loud thud came from the floor beneath him. He very nearly growled as he stabbed at the food on his plate once more. He knew how irrational it was to be angry at someone making noise while they moved, but it didn’t change the fact that at this point, anything Fell did, no matter how minor the inconvenience, was going to set him off. 

Crowley wasn’t sure if the call that interrupted his lunch was a curse that interrupted his meal or a blessing that interrupted his mounting anger. Either way, he abandoned his plate on the table and pressed the button on his bluetooth to accept it, moving to his laptop to confirm that the caller’s billing had been approved.

“Thanks for calling,” he said, voice low and husky. “Your pleasure is my business. What’s your name, sweetheart?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we hope you enjoyed! we'd love to hear your feedback :) feel free to leave a comment and/or come say hi on tumblr!!
> 
> [@enbyziraphale](https://enbyziraphale.tumblr.com) and [@artist-formerly-known-as-crawley](https://artist-formerly-known-as-crawley.tumblr.com)
> 
> We'll see you next Monday!


	3. For a Good Time, Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azra moves in to his new apartment and Crowley plagues him with never ending noise. He finds something interesting on his walk back to the bookshop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!! Sorry for the delay on the update; the wifi at my apartment wasn't set up until yesterday and I was home sick on Monday so I couldn't use the wifi at my office! We are going to be moving updates to Wednesdays from here on out though :)
> 
> (also sorry if anyone gets double notifs for the chapter! i had some technical issues and had to delete/reupload!)
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy!! <3

Azra hadn’t had much to move into his new flat, which was significantly more spacious than he had imagined. However, if nothing else, he needed a bed - another night on that sofa in the bookshop was the last thing he wanted. So after a trip to the mattress store and a call to Newt and Anathema, the latter was minding the store while Newt was helping him haul the damned thing up the narrow staircase.

He was sure they were making quite a racket, but it was nearing two pm and if his cranky landlord-turned-neighbor wasn’t amongst the awake and living at this point, well, there was nothing to be done for it.

They had finally made it up to his second floor flat and he was fumbling for the door with one hand, and attempting to keep his end of the mattress steady with the other. They had already set up the frame in the bedroom and this was the last thing standing between him and a good night’s sleep tonight.

“Just a tick, dear,” he said through gritted teeth as he finally fittd the key into the lock.

Newt merely grunted in response, bearing most of the weight of the mattress while they remained on the steep incline of the stairs.

Finally Azra was able to get the door open and the two of them dragged the mattress into the entryway, where they could finally set it down and rest for a moment. Azra leaned against the counter, breathing heavily. He hadn’t had to put this much exertion into anything in quite some time, and he was rather embarrassed to realize it showed.

“How much did you say you were paying for this?” Newt asked as soon as he’d caught his breath. “This place is massive. Just about bigger than our bloody house.”

And that was the strange thing, wasn’t it. For such an impatient person, Mr. Crowley hadn’t asked for anything in addition to his bookshop rent. He couldn’t imagine why, the man could have charged an arm and a leg for this flat. It was right in the middle of Soho, downtown - a most desirable location, and yet, he had been letting it sit empty and unnoticed for two years.

“Nothing, actually,” Azra replied, his own confusion still evident. “Or well, nothing in addition to the rent I’m already paying for the shop. The owner was a rather… impatient fellow, and seemed more interested in being left alone than anything else.”

“That’s rather strange. D’you think he’s… I mean, what do you think he does for a living?”

“I’ve absolutely no idea. He was still asleep when I went up for the key earlier, so he can’t have your usual office job,” Azra mused.

“Do you know anything about him at all? What if he’s a criminal? Do you think maybe he sells drugs? What if he tries to recruit you?”

Before Azra could reply, they were interrupted rather suddenly by a wailing groan from the flat above them, and what sounded rather suspiciously like a large piece of furniture being jostled rhythmically.

Any response Azra might have come up with was promptly taken right out of his open mouth, which snapped shut. He looked over to Newt, eyes wide, only to find a similarly mortified expression on his friend’s face. The two merely stared at each other for a moment, unsure of what else to do.

“Is he-” Newt started.

“I rather think he’s-” They had spoken at the same time, and as if on cue, the man above them began swearing rather profusely between his noises of pleasure.

“Oh good lord.” Newt was red from the tips of his ears to his neck. “Well that’s. A thing.”

“Maybe it’s… a one off occasion?” Azra offered, voice hopeful but even as he said it, he had a feeling it was incredibly doubtful.

“That doesn’t, er, sound like someone who doesn’t… do _ that… _often.” Newt looked profoundly uncomfortable but brightened after a moment. “Although I suppose that means he’s probably not a drug dealer, or a murderer. Probably he just can’t find anyone else who’ll, erm, tolerate the noise.”

“Oh dear…”

“Well,” Newt was growing redder by the second as the volume and pitch of the cries continued to increase. “Is that, I mean… let’s get this to the bedroom, eh?” He nodded towards the mattress that was still leaning against the doorframe, and Azra nodded.

It didn’t take long at all for them to get the mattress down the hall and into the bedroom, but every time one of them attempted to alleviate the awkwardness, another noise came from the flat above them and instead they merely worked in uncomfortable silence, exchanging embarrassed grimaces whenever Mr. Crowley was especially loud.

“Er, was there anything else you needed help with?” Newt asked, once they had managed to get the mattress aloft the bed frame. They had already moved the sofa and Azra could tell he was eager to get back downstairs, and he couldn’t blame him.

Azra waved a hand absently, trying very, very hard to mentally block out the noises, and not wanting to subject Newt to them for any longer than was necessary. “That’s everything. Thank you for the help. Please let Anathema know I’ll be down in a moment.”

“‘Course,” Newt said. “Well… Good luck.” He moved more quickly than Azra had ever seen him do before and was gone in a second, leaving him quite alone with the pleasure-filled cries filtering down from upstairs.

Of course that Crowley fellow would have a partner. Azra needed reading glasses from time to time but his vision was fine, and only someone struggling without the gift of sight would have missed how absolutely breathtaking he was, even if his personality left something to be desired. It would explain, too, how angry he was at being disturbed and how reluctant he seemed to be to allow Azra into his flat, slamming the door in his face instead.

There was a sick kind of irony to it all. Azra, still sore from his breakup with Gabriel, getting free housing in a flat underneath someone who spent his time having loud (and from the sounds of it, very rough) sex mid-afternoon, highlighting just how alone Azra was.

Mr. Crowley probably kissed his partner plenty.

_ But nevermind all that_; Azra thought to himself, almost physically shaking the bad feelings from his mind. At least he was usually in the bookshop at this time of day, so hopefully he wouldn’t have to hear it again.

Hurriedly, he made his way out the door, locking the flat behind him before rushing back down the stairs to the bookshop, where Anathema was laughing raucously, apparently having just been informed about his neighbor’s… _ active lifestyle _.

“Oh hush,” he scolded half heartedly. “It’s hardly polite to discuss another person’s… sexual activity. I’m sure he didn’t mean for us to hear it.”

“That’s intent versus impact,” Anathema said. “You should talk to him. Not now, I mean.” She paused to laugh. “Definitely not right now.”

Azra could feel himself flushing a deep scarlet at the thought.

“No, certainly not! But I’m almost never home this time of day, so hopefully if it happens again, I won’t be there,” he reasoned, not sure if he was trying to reassure the others or himself. “No, I rather think I won’t say anything unless it happens again. No need to get off on an even worse foot than I already have.”

“_He’s _ certainly getting off,” Anathema said, cackling again, Newt going bright red once again beside her.

“I’d rather not talk about it anymore, if it’s all the same to you,” Azra said primly.

“Have it your way.” Anathema stepped out from behind the counter. “By the way, you’re inviting us over for dinner this weekend so I can purify your flat.”

“Of course,” Azra replied, chuckling and giving her an indulgent smile. “Let me know when and I’ll make sure that I actually have kitchenware.”

“We’ll text you.” Anathema stepped forward to squeeze his hand and place a kiss on his cheek, before turning to lace her fingers with Newt’s. The two of them made for the door, hand in hand, Newt looking over his shoulder to give Azra a wave.

“Bye mate, see you in a few days.”

Azra waved back, watching the two disappear behind the closing door, the shop bell ringing merrily in their wake.

\--

When Azra finally closed up the bookshop at seven o’clock sharp, he counted the till and immediately reached for the folder of takeout menus that he kept in the back room. He flipped through the menus, waiting for something to catch his eye before finally settling on the Indian place just a few blocks away and dialing the number from the bookshop telephone. It wasn’t fancy, but it was his favorite and what he wanted more than anything was something familiar and comfortable.

The prospect of spending another evening in his bookshop was unappealing, so he gave instructions to have the food delivered to the flat.

When he returned upstairs, it was to find his neighbor and landlord blessedly quiet. His eyelids fluttered closed and he sighed a contented breath of relief, before opening them and surveying the empty, impersonal space before him. He had a long way to go before it would truly feel like home, but he was off to a decent start.

The idea of a home without Gabriel was something that would take time to adjust to, and it wasn’t something Azra particularly cared to think about just then; he’d slept terribly the night before and dreaming of Gabriel wouldn’t do much to make sure he got any better rest. At least he’d have a bed, so if nothing else, his back wouldn’t have to suffer for another night. No, for now, he’d have something to eat and finally have a quiet night alone with his bed.

Pulling out the book he had brought upstairs with him, he settled in on the sofa, glancing around briefly at the otherwise depressingly empty sitting room. In all likelihood, the flat would be empty for ages. Azra hadn’t expected the flat to be so massive, and the sparse collection of personal items he brought with him from Gabriel’s wouldn’t even make a dent in the space. He had always been someone who liked to be surrounded by books and items of sentiment that he had collected over the years, but after two years in Gabriel’s minimalist space, he hardly had anything left that wasn’t in the bookshop.

Putting those thoughts aside, he cracked open his book and set to losing himself in it. Reading always cheered him up and he was looking forward to the detachment that came with losing himself in a book.

It seemed his neighbor had other plans.

No sooner had Azra’s eyes caught on the first word on the page, a loud moan ripped through the silence. The muffled sound of talking could be heard afterwards for a moment, though he couldn’t hear the exact words and they were followed soon by another, and then the unmistakable thumping of a headboard against a wall.

He sat there, shocked and still for a moment before slamming his book closed and letting out an exasperated groan of his own. He had half a mind to march up the stairs and bang on Mr. Crowley’s door then and there, but the initial hot spike of anger passed after a moment. He had never been the confrontational type, especially not with… matters such as these. Not that he had much of a frame of reference for his current situation, but even the thought of interrupting someone… mid coitus was deeply humiliating, and he had no intention of putting himself through that tonight.

He took a deep breath to calm his nerves before marching down the stairs instead, where his bookshop stationery sat on his desk. Instead of a quiet evening with a book, he’d be spending a tense evening with a very polite but strongly-worded note that he hoped would put a stop to this sort of thing.

Contrary to popular belief, Azra wasn’t a prude. It wasn’t the act that was bothering him; Mr. Crowley was free to enjoy whichever carnal pleasures suited him best and it was neither Azra’s business nor his concern. In fact, he was even, although loathe to admit it, impressed with the frequency of Mr Crowley’s… adventures. Twice in one day, and with such enthusiasm, had been all but unheard of in any of Azra’s past relationships. Not that he himself would never have wanted to, it just… He supposed that he had just never seemed to inspire that kind of passion in anyone.

Regardless, all he wanted was for Mr. Crowley to kindly keep his volume down, that was all. He didn’t want to be a spoilsport, but he could hardly live in a flat where he was constantly hearing every detail of his neighbor’s sexual activities.

He read through the note that he had carefully written several times, ensuring that the tone was as polite as possible, while still remaining firm, and finally carefully pressed it trifold before slipping it into an envelope. After carefully inscribing the front of the envelope to Mr. Crowley himself, he sighed deeply.

His mother had always told him when he was young that God never throws anything at you that you can’t handle. But he had been disillusioned with the church for many years at this point, and he had his doubts. It wasn’t that he didn’t have faith at all; he had always felt very connected to the idea that there _ was _ some Great Plan somewhere for everything, that all of his suffering and the suffering of others was leading towards something that he just couldn’t understand and wasn’t meant to. It was an idea that steadied him through turmoil and, in some sense, he felt that the idea of someone, or _ something _ , holding the reins of all this chaos, gave him purpose. He had to carry on because he was meant to, and so he would. But the _ mantras _ or reassurances that his mother and the rest of the church were so insistent on had always felt rather saccharine and disingenuous to him.

He had never felt like the Almighty was ever that concerned with ‘what he could handle’, or anyone else for that matter. It didn’t matter what an individual person could live with or couldn’t. He certainly wasn’t sure he could handle much more going wrong in his life right now though, and God, or the universe, or whatever was out there certainly didn’t seem like it would be stopping anytime soon.

No, for now it seemed he would just be the butt of a joke that the universe was beating like a dead horse, and he just hoped it would tire of him sooner rather than later.

Thankfully a distraction from this line of thought arrived in the form of the delivery driver, whom Azra caught just in time to stop him from going up to the flat. It was a small mercy, but he wasn’t sure he could take the abject embarrassment of having let another unwitting person have to suffer through the unbearable awkwardness of listening to Mr. Crowley’s… carrying on.

Rather than subjecting himself to it once more, he chose instead to eat in the armchair that still remained in the shop and putting on a record, Rachmaninoff, as he did to keep him company while he ate his curry. He may as well let the record play through, as he wasn’t eager to return to his flat, despite his exhaustion, without allowing enough time for Mr. Crowley and his partner to cease and desist.

He had nearly dozed off in his seat, mostly empty takeout container still in his lap by the time the music came to a close and the comforting white noise of the vinyl continuing to spin filled the room in its stead. It was only the twinge in his back that brought him back to the world of the living and he massaged his aching temple before pushing himself back to his feet.

Surely, enough time had passed that it would be safe to return to the flat. He locked the shop doors once more and made his way upstairs, relief flooding through him when he found that the noise had stopped. It was still early, earlier than Azra typically even thought about bed, but it had been a long day and he was emotionally drained.

He dressed for bed quickly and sank down into it. It was a significant improvement from the uncomfortable little sofa he’d had to make do with the night before. Sleep came to him quickly after that, and just as he began to fall into it, another wailing noise came from directly above him.

He all but cried out himself, as he pressed the palms of his hands into his tired eyes and yanked his pillow out from underneath him in an attempt to drown out the noises that followed.

\--

The noonday sun was glaring through the window when Crowley awoke. The glare in his eyes certainly made him wince, but it was at the very least not as annoying as a phone call at eight o’clock in the morning. He hadn’t heard a peep from downstairs, and he was hopeful that the terse interaction they’d had at his front door the day before was the last he’d see or hear of the man for a good long time.

Crowley freed the foot that was trapped and going numb under George (who knew _ good and well _ he was _ not supposed to be in the bed,) _ and stumbled out, cursing at the pins-and-needles sensation that stabbed through his leg as he walked down the hallway.

“Should’ve gotten a cat,” he muttered into his empty kitchen, making straight for the coffeemaker. Work had run a bit longer than usual the night before, and while he didn’t find the job particularly difficult, cultivating fantasies took up a lot of mental space and even after a solid eight hours, he was still bleary and in need of a chemical pick-me-up.

“Or a dog. Dogs’re better behaved,” he told the coffeemaker as he flicked it on, thanking Past Him for having the foresight to prep the blessed thing before falling into bed the night (or, well, _ morning,) _before. “You can train ‘em and everything. If you say ‘sit,’ they sit. If you say, ‘don’t cut off my damned circulation while I’m too asleep to do anything about it, you great bloody reptile,’ they… well. You get the point.”

He contemplated the point of a coffee pot when the first dribble that landed in it always went straight into his mug anyway, and wandered back out of the kitchen, intent on surveying his house plants, when a scrap of white at his door caught his eye.

Crowley frowned into his mug, hoping that maybe if he glared at the offending piece of paper hard enough it might simply slide itself back outside and stop interrupting his morning.

Fortune favors the brave but not, apparently, the grumpy, and the envelope didn’t so much as stir. He snatched it up, already annoyed at the contents. He’d never seen the man’s handwriting before but the elegant, looping cursive of his name couldn’t possibly belong to anyone but Mr. Downstairs, whose general air was that of the maligned spirit of a Victorian gentleman who was very perplexed to have found himself in the Twenty First century.

He ripped the envelope open and blinked down at the paper for a moment, willing his tired eyes to focus on the neat little letters.

_ Dear Mr. Crowley, _

_ I wanted to leave you this note rather than to take up any further of your time with a phone call, especially so early in the morning. I hope by the time you read this, you are well rested. _

_ I wanted to have a few words with you about the level of noise that has come from your flat in a seemingly endless fashion. I am hardly one to discourage anyone from participating in acts of a certain nature, however, I would very much prefer not to hear a live play by play of those activities. It appears that our walls and/or floors are rather thin, as I have been unable to avoid hearing you at all hours of the day and night. _

_ While I am glad that you and your partner are enjoying yourselves, and am not asking you to stop, I would very much appreciate it if you could at the very least, be somewhat quieter about it. _

_ I hope you have a lovely day. _

_ Kind regards, _

_ A.Z. Fell _

Crowley’s upper lip had begun to curl into a snarl as soon as he began reading, and it had practically evolved into a fully formed growl by the time he reached the letter’s conclusion. Who did this posh bastard think he was? This was Crowley’s building, this was his home, he could do what he liked in this space. Mr. _ A.Z. Fell _ was lucky to even have a place to rest his head by the sounds of it, and beggars can’t exactly be choosers, now could they, he couldn’t help but think.

Not to mention the snooty tone throughout..

_ “I hope by the time you read this, you are well rested,” _ he voiced aloud, tone high pitched and mocking as he read through the letter a second time. “Don’t think I don’t know what that means, you great sodding _ ponce._”

He stormed back into his bedroom and grappled for his mobile which lay on the bedside table.

“You don’t see me slipping passive-aggressive notes into that dingy little shop telling him he ought to try tidying it up once in awhile. Who does he think he _ is?_”

A few seconds scrolling through his contacts and a rather vicious jab at the call button had him raising the phone to his ear, cursing at each ring.

“Hello?”

_ Finally _.

“Anathema, I think I’m having a stroke.”

Anathema sighed through the phone.

“What is it now?”

“Why’d you have to ask like that?”

“Last week you told me you were having a heart attack because one of your plants got a spot on it and then you ran it through your garbage disposal.”

“_That dieffenbachia knows what it did.” _

“Well not anymore, it doesn’t, considering you _ shredded it in a garbage disposal _.” Her tone was entirely unsympathetic and Crowley was not going to take any of her sass on top of Mr. Prissy Bookshop Owner’s.

“I don’t have to take this from someone who killed an aloe plant,” Crowley snapped. “Anyway, this isn’t a plant issue, this is a _ rodent _ issue. I have an _ infestation._”

“What good is that snake if--”

“Neighbors!” Crowley interjected. “Do try to keep up. My bloody neighbor slipped some, some snitty little note under my door telling me to _ keep quiet. _ He’s only just moved in and here he is throwing out notes like he’s some keyed up cop handing out ASBOs.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do about it?”

Crowley scowled. “You’re _ supposed _ to tell me that my neighbor is a prick, and remind me how unpleasant it would be to spend the next ten years in prison.”

“Stop being so dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic!” Crowley huffed, throwing himself down to sit on the edge of the bed in what was certainly a dramatic way. “I don’t appreciate some new-coming interloper coming into _ my _ building and criticizing _ my _ lifestyle when all I’ve done is the same thing I’ve done everyday since I moved in! I’m appropriately affronted!”

“Your Leo moon is really jumping out right now, babe. You never did take criticism well.”

“Is that supposed to be helpful? I need your advice, not a reaffirmation of my natal chart. And I take criticism _ just fine _ thanks, but not if it isn’t warranted!”

“Uh huh.” Anathema sounded like she was tuning him out, and Crowley scowled harder. “In all fairness, Tony, your work is pretty loud, not to mention the way you torment those plants, which we’ve already discussed.”

He could tell she was teasing him, but that wasn’t the point.

“If he doesn’t like it, he can leave and go somewhere else and pay some outrageous rent to a real landlord. D’you know how much I could get for that place? He should be slipping me gifts instead of _ notes. _ He’s an ungrateful, whiny, _ up tight, poncy little--_”

“Honey, you need to calm down. You really are going to have a heart attack if you keep letting your blood pressure get so high.”

“Good!” he said shrilly. “And we’ll all know whose fault it is!”

He could practically see her rolling her eyes through the phone.

“Come on, why don’t you come out and meet me at the shop? I’ll close it up for an hour or so and we can go get some coffee and do a tarot reading.” She was using that indulgent mother tone of hers, and Crowley was not about it, but the offer was certainly enticing. “Getting out of that flat will do you some good. When was the last time you left?”

He had to think long and hard about that one. He only ever really left to either pick up groceries, or to go to Anathema and Newt’s place. Considering Newt was terrified of snakes, they had never been to his flat, so he had always met them at theirs. Now that he thought about it, it might have been almost a week since he last went outside.

“Fine,” he said finally. “But you’re buying.”

\--

It had been just over a month since Azra had moved into the flat above the bookshop, and he was exhausted. He could count the number of nights he had been able to sleep uninterrupted by Mr. Crowley’s nighttime (or daytime) antics on one hand, and he was losing his patience. It certainly didn’t help that it felt like a constant reminder of his own loneliness either. He had even almost called Gabriel a few times, and the only thing that had held him back was the idea of what Anathema would have to say if she found out.

And she _ would _ find out. She always did.

The flat was at least beginning to feel more like a home, loud and inappropriate soundtrack from his landlord and neighbor aside, and he knew he ought to be grateful to even have the flat. But he couldn’t believe how incredibly thoughtless the man was. His note may have been somewhat passive aggressive, but he had tried to be as kind as possible, given the circumstances. But there had been no response and no respite. In fact, for several days following the note, it seemed as though Mr. Crowley had put in the effort to nearly double his volume as if to spite Azra.

A few times, he’d even considered trying to drag the little sofa back down to the shop. A sore back would be a welcome pain if only it came with a full night’s sleep.

His days were spent as they always were, running the bookshop, and for the nights, he had invested in ear plugs. He had come to realize that it was the only way he could hope to get a restful night’s sleep, and he only wished it had occurred to him sooner. Thank heavens for Newt, who had suggested it.

The rest was doing quite a bit to make him feel a little bit more human, but the constant ache of loneliness drained it right away. Newt and Anathema were always willing to spend time with him, but not always able, especially with Anathema having her own business to keep track of

Besides, his friends were incredibly important to him and he could not value them enough, but it was different than having someone who was always there. There when you woke up and there when you went to sleep. Even if that person could be distant and cold at times.

It was under this cloud that Azra found the flyer.

He’d been walking back to the shop from lunch, and while he waited for the light to change, the bright lettering affixed to a nearby telephone pole had caught his eye.

** _YOUR PLEASURE IS MY BUSINESS_ **

** _FOR A GOOD TIME, CALL 0909 666 2769_ **

Azra flushed a deep scarlet as he realized what the flier was for, but his curiosity was piqued and he couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder before attempting to discreetly adjust his position to read the fine print, hoping no one would notice him reading the flyer.

_ Feeling lonely? Local men willing and eager to provide discreet and intimate calls. _

_ Let me bring all of your fantasies to life. _

_ All major credit cards accepted. _

At the bottom of the flyer were tabs for the taking, each with the above phone number typed out. Azra couldn’t tear his eyes away. He had never in his life considered calling a phone sex line, and even if he had, he was sure he would have found the notion too humiliating to even consider. Acknowledging that he was so lonely that he had to _ pay _ someone to even have an… intimate conversation with him? Not exactly what he had always dreamed of.

But he couldn’t deny how intrigued he was and it was only the beeping of the walk signal that tore his gaze away from the flyer.

Thoroughly embarrassed, and without giving himself time to think and talk himself out of it, he reached out and tore one of the tabs free. His heart raced as he shoved it deep into his pocket and held his head down, blushing furiously as he made his way across the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we hope you enjoyed! we'd love to hear your feedback :) feel free to leave a comment and/or come say hi on tumblr!!
> 
> [@enbyziraphale](https://enbyziraphale.tumblr.com) and [@artist-formerly-known-as-crawley](https://artist-formerly-known-as-crawley.tumblr.com)
> 
> We'll see you next Wednesday!


	4. The Illusion of Companionship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azra frets over whether or not to call the number he found. Anathema has some big news and Azra doesn't take it well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dang this chapter took two weeks to write but we're so happy with how it turned out - we're excited to share it with y'all! finally getting to the good stuff ;)

The phone number had quickly been forgotten, crumpled up in the pocket of his trousers and, after having a surprisingly busy afternoon at the shop, he had not given it another thought. The sting of the breakup and Gabriel’s harsh words never really left him, but it settled into the back of his mind as his life began to orient around a new normal. 

The fact that his new normal meant long, sleepless nights courtesy of his rude and noisy landlord was a blight on what otherwise might have been an alright time of things, but Azra was ever an optimist and he refused to let it keep him down. He had taken to spending most of his waking hours in the bookshop; eating, reading, and doing everything but sleeping there to avoid the noise. While it wasn’t ideal, he had begun to develop a routine in the following week, complete with bookkeeping, housework, and chores.

Contrary to the popular sentiments of his peers, Azra rather enjoyed laundry day. The process was methodical and tidy, order in the chaos of life. Besides, there was little that was better than sinking into clean sheets at the end of a long day.

The flat, luckily, had come equipped with a washing machine, saving Azra quite a bit of a headache. The flat above him was blessedly quiet for once, and he was in the middle of sorting out his clothes when he found it. He was turning out his pockets as he tossed each item into the washer when his fingers met the crinkled piece of paper and his eyes widened, realizing with embarrassment exactly what it was before he even drew it out. He could feel his face heating up, even though there was no one there to see, and he was once again grateful that he wasn’t in the middle of a laundrette.

The number stared back at him, slightly worn in the creases but far from illegible.

He knew he ought to throw it away. It was foolish of him to have taken it in the first place. What use did he have for a phone sex line? Not, of course, that there was anything wrong with phone sex, but Azra just… wasn’t the type. 

Right?

He stared for a moment longer. He should have just thrown it away, but instead the little slip of paper made a smooth transition from his hand to his pocket and he turned his attention back to his laundry as if nothing had happened. This time though, it was not so easily forgotten.

It burned like a coal in his pocket; each time he shifted it was like he could feel it pressed against his leg. It got to be such a distraction that he finally went down to the bookshop and, after a long moment of hand wringing indecision, stuffed the tab of paper into the till.

He was being ridiculous, and he knew it. He wasn’t going to call, so getting rid of the damned thing shouldn’t be so difficult. Even if there _ was _ a little niggling tendril of curiosity stuck in the back of his mind, he _ wasn’t going to call_, and if he was really so curious, a bit of research online would yield him more than enough answers if he actually felt the need to get into it, which he absolutely did _ not. _

Besides, how did that sort of thing even _ work _ ? Did people actually just call up a stranger during such a vulnerable moment and… get _ off _ with them? Of course he knew that some people did, but the whole notion struck Azra as supremely mortifying and incredibly impersonal. He hadn’t even been able to talk to Gabriel about sex. Well, when they were having it. They just… did it. They had a routine and it happened and they both (usually) got off, and they either went about their day or went to bed depending on if it was morning or evening. It was perfectly fine!

Still, there must be something to the whole phone thing, or else no one would bother. 

Either way, he felt like a prize idiot, standing in the middle of his closed shop, his evening completely derailed by something as silly as this. He couldn’t help but think of what Gabriel might say if he knew, and just the idea of it made him deflate on the spot. It felt like admitting defeat.

Poor Azra, paying someone to pretend to be interested in him, because no one else would bother to give him the time of day.

He scrubbed at his face with the palm of his hand as if to wipe away the miserable feeling of dread that had overtaken him. No. He wasn’t going to think about Gabriel any longer, or about the phone number tucked away in the till.

-

The number was, as it turned out, much harder to forget about the second time around.

Making his morning tea and reaching for an extra mug out of habit, coming home to an empty flat, going to sleep on the left side of the otherwise empty bed… All the little things throughout the day that reminded him of Gabriel, also seemed to remind him of the number that was seemingly burning a hole in the cashwrap.

The fact that he was spending so much time in the bookshop these days due to the noise emanating from his neighbor’s flat, so close to both the phone _ and _ the number, didn’t help. Nor did the way it was impossible to ignore each morning and evening as he opened the drawer to count the cash or make a bank deposit, waiting there for him, accusing.

He had, he was quite embarrassed to admit even to himself, taken to opening the drawer and pulling the number out with increasing frequency. He would read it, flush a deep scarlet, and then shove it hurriedly back from whence it came, but at this point he had done this so often that the numbers were seared into his brain. He didn’t even need to look at the tab of paper as he worried it between his fingers until the edges and creases grew soft with wear.

The first time he took it a step further, it had been a particularly long day at the shop. He had called his favorite Chinese takeout place, only to realize they were closed on Mondays, and found himself staring, forlorn, at the cash drawer.

Looking over his shoulder as if someone might be watching him from within his closed shop, he moved towards the till. Shaking his head at himself, _ being silly_, he admonished, he reached out with shaking fingers to pop the cash drawer open.

The numbers stared back at him as he pulled the tab out.

_ 0909 666 2769 _

What would calling hurt, _ really? _ Aside from Azra’s pride which, at this point, was in dire straights already and unlikely to take much more damage, there was nothing in the line of fire for this particular decision. Besides, calling didn’t mean committing to any _ acts. _ It could be nothing more than a simple expression of his own curiosity. There wasn’t anything wrong with a bit of healthy curiosity, right?

His rationale did nothing to steady the trembling in his hands as he reached for the phone.

_ Oh come on, buck up_, he reprimanded himself as he hesitantly punched in the numbers. His heart was in his throat as he held the receiver to his ear. The first ring was so loud that he very nearly jumped out of his skin and, quicker than he had ever picked the phone up, he slammed it back down into the cradle.

His heart was still pounding and he had to remind himself to pull in a few deep, steadying breaths in an attempt to calm down. 

Simple curiosity, it seemed, wasn’t so simple after all. What would he have done if someone had picked _ up _? He certainly didn’t know and the idea absolutely terrified him. What was he supposed to say?

_ Oh, yes, hello, I’ve found myself recently single and rather than allow myself to sink further into the abysmal pits of despair, I’ve decided to exchange money for the illusion of companionship, have I called the right service? _

He wouldn’t dare impose that on anyone.

The more reasonable part of his brain reminded him that it _ was _ this person’s _ job_, one that they had, presumably, chosen_, _ but he still couldn’t help but feel like he wasn’t ready to admit that kind of defeat. The idea that it would just be acknowledging that Gabriel had been right all along.

Taking a deep breath, he picked up the phone again and punched in a familiar number.

This time, after a few rings he could hear the faint click as the person on the other line answered.

“Hello! Thank you for calling Terra Rossa, how can I help you?”

The familiar response was soothing, and he could feel his heart rate slowing almost immediately.

“Delivery, please,” he replied, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Tonight, he decided with a sigh, would be another night of eating takeout alone in the bookshop with a cup of tea. Which, he reminded himself, wasn’t a bad night at all. It was in fact, one of his favorite ways to pass his evenings.

He couldn’t help but wonder why it felt so depressing.

The following weeks passed much the same. Almost every evening, he considered calling with varying levels of near success. There was one evening where he had been feeling rather braver than usual and had even remained on the line until he heard the telltale click of an answer, but his courage had only lasted him that long. The phone had, once again, been unceremoniously slammed back down and he had all but cried out in frustration.

The sound had come out instead as a muffled but disgruntled groan as he buried his face in his hands.

He wasn’t left alone to stew for long, however, and eventually after an extended period of self imposed isolation, Anathema had blown through the bookshop doors like a hurricane one afternoon and flipped the sign to _ Closed_.

“I beg your pardon!” He exclaimed, looking up from the cashwrap in confusion and gesturing to the sign.

“Yes, hello to you too.” She was as aloof as always, and stood in the entryway across the shop, staring him down with a fierce expression. “You’ve been ignoring my calls.”

Azra could feel himself turning pink. He hadn’t been _ intentionally _ avoiding Anathema, but… 

“Don’t argue with me, Azra, we both know it’s true. I’m not mad at you, but I _ am _ putting my foot down, and dragging you out if I have to. You look like you haven’t been outside in days.”

Azra didn’t bother correcting her that it had actually been rather more than a week, and stared at her open mouthed for a moment as his brain caught up with her words.

“But the shop…”

“Is closed,” she replied, cutting in with a tone so matter of fact that he found he could no longer continue to object. She punctuated the assertion with a decisive hand wave to the sign that she had flipped without even looking to see if there were any customers inside. Not that there were. 

“Come on, we’re going to lunch.”

-

Azra smiled gratefully across the table at Anathema. She had been right, of course. He’d been cooped up and alone for too long, loathe to leave the shop or his flat for anything more than necessary errands, and ordering in food anytime he wanted something beyond his rudimentary cooking skills. For someone who loved food as much as he did, he had never been much of a chef.

The food in front of him now however…

“Absolutely scrumptious, Anathema, thank you.”

“Don’t think I can’t tell when you’re getting stir-crazy,” Anathema said. “Although, I did think I’d have a little bit more trouble getting you out today.”

“My dear, you had me at ‘lunch.’”

“Of course I did.” Her tone was warm and indulgent and she grinned back around her fork as she took another bite, clearly feeling very smug about having gotten her way, even if she hadn’t had to work for it.

A comfortable silence stretched between the two of them as they ate. It had been so long since Azra had left the house and gone to a real restaurant. He had been a bit of a shut in the last few weeks, and while he loved takeout, it was nice to be out and about. He really was glad for Anathema getting him out in the real world. It was so easy for him to hide away with his books, and even more so since things had ended so suddenly with Gabriel. This was exactly the change of pace he needed.

As he finished his meal, he smiled softly at Anathema before dabbing at his mouth with his napkin and reached for the dessert menu. He held it up to her as if to ask if she wanted something, but she absentmindedly shook her head ‘no’, and he paused, recognizing the look on her face.

“What’s going on dear? Is something the matter?”

The menu hung from his hand as he looked across the table at her, his brow furrowing with concern. She was clearly thinking about _ something _ and, from the looks of it, it didn’t seem like she wanted to tell him.

“Nothing bad,” Anathema said hurriedly. “Just, the timing’s probably a little off. For you, that is.”

He could feel his stomach sinking with anxiety, as she spoke. 

“Oh?” He tried to remain neutral, busying himself with putting the menu back down on the table and smoothing down the front of his sweater vest, before looking back at her, expression curious.

“Newt proposed,” Anathema said quickly, not quite managing to hide her smile.

Azra’s stomach felt like it had dropped to the floor, or as if he’d had the wind knocked out of him.

“I know it’s probably… well, it just sucks, considering…”

_ Considering your current pathetic state of loneliness, _ he couldn’t help but think to himself.

“Well, everything. I hope it doesn’t upset you, but I wanted you to know.”

She looked positively wretched, and the realization of how selfish he was being hit Azra like a ton of bricks. Anathema should be delighted… _ He _ should be delighted for her, and here he was making her feel awful over something that was such wonderful news for her and Newt.

He was a terrible friend.

“That’s wonderful news!” He smiled, attempting to banish the twisting in his stomach in favor of something more cheerful. “Anathema, you needn’t have been so concerned. It doesn’t… what I mean to say is… Is that you shouldn’t feel like you need to spare my feelings. You and Newt are perfect for each other, and I know how happy you both must be.”

He reached out to grab her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. He could feel his voice raising slightly in pitch but he squashed it down as best he could.

“I’m happy _ for _ you. Truly.”

By the look on her face, he could tell that she wasn’t entirely convinced but before she could open her mouth to push the subject, his eyebrows flew up into his hairline as he looked down and spoke.

“Oh! Your ring!” He released her hand as he realized there was no telltale gold band on her finger and looked up at her, gesturing to it. “Where is it?”

Anathema paled a little. “Oh, well, I didn’t want to give it away before I had a chance to tell you myself. I didn’t want to upset you.” 

She rifled through her small handbag for a moment before producing a velvet box and pulling out a gold band with a colorful stone affixed to the center, which she slipped onto her left hand. It was beautiful.

The sickening wave of self-loathing that Azra had suppressed sprang back on him full-force. “I’m so sorry,” he said miserably. “Whatever I did to make you think you needed to be so careful, please know that I never intended to make it seem like you should have to hide anything from me. Whatever happened between Gabriel and I has no bearing on our friendship or on your relationship with Newt.”

Anathema reached across the table and patted his hand reassuringly. “I know you didn’t,” she said. “It’s alright. I know you aren’t exactly over things with… Aren’t exactly over things. I can read it in your aura. Newt and I have been worried.”

That was almost worse, but Azra had no intention of dwelling on any of that. He was going to be happy for Anathema, and that was that. “Nothing to worry about, my dear. I’m just fine. Tickety-boo, even.”

“Tickety-boo?”

“All I meant was that you and Newt should be focusing on yourselves.” He brushed off her questioning, but amused grin. “I’m perfectly alright - and really dear, very happy for you. Newt is a wonderful fellow.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Anathema said, a touch bit dreamily. “But you deserve happiness too, Azra.” She fiddled a bit with her ring. “It’s been almost two months since… How would you feel if I got you in touch with someone?”

“In touch with someone?” Azra could feel the blood running out of his face. In touch with _ whom _ ? It seemed impossible to him that Anathema might have found about about the phone number in his till but she _ did _ spend a lot of time around the shop, and it did sound awfully like she was about to refer him to a similar sort of service. Even though he _ knew _ it wasn’t impossible, he was sure she wouldn’t taunt him that way. Still, his chest tightened with anxiety and he cursed himself for being so foolish as to have even taken the number, let alone leaving it unattended for so long. 

“I’ve got this old friend from university. He’s single too, and I think you two would work well together. I cross-checked your natal charts this morning.”

“An old friend.” Azra was beginning to feel a bit like a broken record. If he’d thought the prospect of Anathema suggesting he hire company was mortifying, it was nothing to the incomparable indignity of realizing that Anathema meant to _ set him up. _

“He’s a little, uh, high strung at times, and kind of dramatic, but I really think you’d like him.”

Azra wondered why the earth hadn’t yet opened beneath him and swallowed him up. “I don’t… I’m not sure that’s the best idea.” His face had never felt so hot before, and he’d never wanted to run more than he did now. “It’s… just not a good time. Very busy with the shop, you know, and I wouldn’t want to put you out. Or your friend out.” 

Anathema must have thought him the most pathetic creature in the world. 

“You wouldn’t be putting anyone out, Azra. It’s just a date. Just a few hours, no harm, no foul.”

“I _ really _ don’t think--” 

Azra’s protestation was cut off by the arrival of their waiter. 

“Could I tempt either of you with some dessert?” He was smiling and in any other situation, Azra might have found him charming and would have smiled and given an enthusiastic yes, but now… 

“Er, no, I rather think we’re finished!” He said, the false cheer returning full force.

“Azra…” Anathema’s protest was rather weak for once; they both knew that the conversation was over, whether she wanted it to be or not.

“Could we actually get the check please?” Azra asked, cutting her off with his voice growing high and tight once again.

The poor boy had clearly noticed the tension and was looking between the two of them uncomfortably, but Azra smiled at him as best as he could manage, and the waiter nodded before scurrying back to the kitchen. 

Azra’s cloth napkin was the most interesting thing in the world just then, and he occupied himself with removing it from his lap and folding it with excruciating care. He could feel Anathema’s eyes on him but he didn’t budge an inch. Looking at her head on was out of the question; he wasn’t sure he could even handle the tension as it was.

It felt like an eternity before the waiter returned with the check but finally, mercifully, he returned. Azra produced a handful of bills as if he’d done so from thin air, pressed them into the waiter’s hand, and nearly tripped as he stumbled to his feet. 

“Please keep the change,” he said quickly, addressing the waiter before turning to Anathema and finally looking at her, though it was rather more at her forehead than her eyes. “I’m afraid I _ must _ be going, but it was lovely seeing you,” he said. “Please send my congratulations to Newt.” 

Anathema didn’t have a chance to respond before Azra took off, making for the door like the building was on fire.

-

He spent the rest of the afternoon running the shop on autopilot, and for once he wanted to curse the lack of foot traffic in the afternoons. He longed for a distraction from the guilt and anxiety he was feeling after how terribly he had treated Anathema, and the mortification he had felt at the suggestion of a set up. He really ought to call and apologize, but even thinking of the phone led his mind in dangerous directions that landed closer to the worn tab of paper in his till than Anathema’s name in his phonebook. 

He had suffered enough embarrassment this afternoon. He certainly didn’t need to add more fuel to that fire.

Still, it was a compelling thought. Clearly, the way he was presenting himself certainly left him rather nearer to the kind of desperation that would force him to actually make that call than he’d realized, if his nearest and dearest (and _ only_, he reminded himself ruefully) friend was trying to set him up with old schoolmates. As if he were too pathetic and sad to find company on his own.

It wasn’t exactly an inaccurate assumption though, and he could feel tears of embarrassment pricking at his eyes. He’d been holding them in for weeks, never allowing himself to cry when Gabriel had kicked him out, and now he was finding they couldn’t be stopped. He rushed to flip the sign on the door to _ Closed _ once again, drawing the blinds on the door as he did so.

Without the light from the door, the shop was quite dim save for a few slivers of sunlight that cut through the heavy, faded curtains on the windows and a few tired, flourescent lightbulbs set into the aging fixtures. He found it rather suited his mood. 

What he wanted, more than anything, was to sink into his bed, draw the covers up, and never leave it again. The prospect of being assailed by his neighbor’s very lively and very clearly _ satisfying _ love life however only renewed his tears with a force.

He felt like a fool, standing in the middle of his shop, crying his eyes out, but no matter how much he willed it, the tears wouldn’t stop.

He rushed for the kettle, trying his damnedest to gain control, but even the deepest breaths as he filled it with water and put it on the hot plate he kept in the back did nothing to stop the heaving sobs. The humiliation he felt at his encounter with Anathema on top of the grieving he had not allowed himself to confront in the wake of his failed relationship combined into hot, heavy tears which rolled down his cheeks.

Who had he been kidding, thinking that Gabriel would want to stay with him?

He thought about the few photos he still had packed away upstairs of the two of them, and how odd they had looked together. Tall, beautiful, stylish, and successful Gabriel standing straight backed and serious next to Azra, who was practically mousy next to him. Perpetually clad in the sweater vests that Gabriel had always teased him about, the swell of his stomach hanging slightly over the waistband of his trousers. 

Azra realized with horror that what he had always interpreted as teasing had clearly been pointed criticism and buried his face in his hands, and wiping fiercely at the snot that was beginning to dribble out of his nostrils.

What had he been doing with Azra in the first place? Maybe Gabriel fancied a fixer-upper. Maybe he’d wanted to gut him like an old house and refit him with everything shiny and new until he met Gabriel’s lofty standards. Maybe, and this was the worst of them all, maybe Gabriel had simply pitied him until he could pity him no longer. 

Azra clenched his fists so tightly that his fingernails cut crescents into his palm. He’d been stupid not to see it, stupid to think he was worthy of Gabriel’s attention. He wasn’t the sort of person who should have expected someone like that.

Where Gabriel was all about progress and ambition, early morning jogs and sterilized minimalism, Azra would rather eat pastries and go to familiar restaurants. He was books and dust, old-fashioned and habitual. He was _ soft_. Well. Perhaps the love he had been hoping to receive from Gabriel was the sort of thing a person like him had to buy.

He sniffed hard and wiped at his eyes again, setting his jaw in firm resolve as he finally unstuck his feet from the floorboards and took the phone out of the cradle. 

He rubbed at his cheeks with the back of his free hand, smearing away the tears which had finally, mercifully slowed. He took a few deep breaths, clutching the phone like a lifeline, glancing at the kettle which had begun steaming but had not quite come to a boil, before walking back over to the till and popping the cash drawer back open.

He didn’t need the slip of paper to make the call, but he held it with his free hand and stared back and forth between the phone and the number, his breaths finally beginning to slow as he made his decision.

The pattern of the number on the dial pad was easy and familiar, and the sound of the call ringing out didn’t startle him this time. He held it to his ear and waited, ignoring the rattle of his heart pounding against his ribs. He was ready.

The phone rang out only a few times more before being cut off mid ring as the familiar click sounded, and instead of hanging up, he was greeted by a clearly pre-recorded voice.

“Thank you for calling,” the voice said, voice low and sultry, even somewhat tawdry, if Azra was being honest. It was clearly something that the speaker was putting on for the service, and he certainly hoped that the real thing would be more realistic.

“This is a place where _ anything _ goes. Whatever you’re in the mood for, you’ll find it here with any of our horny guys. By remaining on the line, you are confirming that you are at least eighteen years of age. Press one to confirm, or, if you’re an existing client, please enter your credit card number now.”

The line went quiet and, after a moment of hesitation as to whether or not he wanted to continue, Azra pressed one. The voice began again.

“Thank you. We can’t wait to talk to you. We just need your credit card number so that we can fulfill _ all _ your fantasies. Please enter it now.

This gave him pause. He hadn’t given much thought to exactly _ how _ he would be required to pay for this, but he realized now that it should have been obvious… 

“Don’t be shy, baby. Please enter your credit card number.” The voice spoke again, clearly being triggered by the prolonged silence. He took a deep breath and pulled out his wallet.

With fingers that were still slightly shaky, he punched in the numbers from his card, and took a deep breath as the voice continued.

“Please press one to consent to our ten minute minimum and get on the line with one of our sexy, local men.”

Azra could feel himself flushing with embarrassment, but this time it was blessedly not because of himself, but because of this ridiculous answering machine. He huffed a stilted, anxious laugh, and pressed one.

The phone rang. 

After a few rings, the familiar click was heard and a smooth, enticing voice poured out into his ear.

“Thanks for calling; Your pleasure is my business. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Definitely more real than the machine, and to his horror, Azra froze.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, speechless, mouth opening and closing but with no sound coming out, like a fish out of water. It must have been a significant amount of time though, because the man on the other end of the line was speaking again.

“Hello? Are you--”

The kettle began squealing in the backroom, startling him out of his stupor and his brain seemed to jumpstart rather forcefully.

“Er… so sorry!” he managed to force out, before standing there, mouth still hanging open for another moment. “Right number!”

_ Right number? What the hell is that supposed to mean? _

He winced, embarrassing himself again it seemed, and immediately hung the phone up once again, rushing for the kettle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we hope you enjoyed - we'd love to hear your feedback! feel free to leave a comment and/or come say hi on tumblr!!
> 
> [@enbyziraphale](https://enbyziraphale.tumblr.com) and [@artist-formerly-known-as-crawley](https://artist-formerly-known-as-crawley.tumblr.com)
> 
> We'll see you next Wednesday!


	5. Take You to Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets a surprising new client.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience today y'all, but we're live and we think you'll like this one! ;) Also sorry again for being so slow to reply to comments!! I usually do it while I'm brainstorming chapter titles haha but I'm going to try to be quicker about it going forward!

The line went dead in his ear and Crowley stared at George, whose long body was languidly stretched out across the back of the couch and wrapped around onto the cushions. It wasn’t the weirdest hang up he’d had, but it was definitely up there. 

“Right number,” he quoted to George, who didn’t seem particularly interested. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

If he thought about it, he supposed it wasn’t too hard to figure out. The guy was clearly anxious about calling a line like his, but it was definitely one of the stranger interactions he’d had of the sort. But with the ten minute minimum he had implemented on his billing system, he’d just made twenty pounds off the hangup, so he wasn’t particularly bent out of shape over it.

“Oh well, no use crying over… whatever it is you cry over.” He flopped down on the sofa, careful to avoid George, but the movement disturbed the snake anyway and he shifted in apparent annoyance. 

It had been a slow night. Tuesdays generally were, and Crowley tended to look forward to the light workload because it meant time to catch up on housework and whatever else needed catching up on. Tonight, it was Netflix, and he swung his legs up to rest his feet on the coffee table while he flicked through the options lazily with his remote. 

“What d’you think, Georgie? Fancy another run through of The Good Place?”

He tossed the remote onto the coffee table and leaned back against the cushions as the episode loaded. 

“Oh! Milk,” he said suddenly. “Don’t know why you’d bother crying over it, but there it is.”

George, as always, was unappreciative of Crowley’s belated lessons in English idioms, his expression somewhere between ‘snake’ and ‘utter disinterest.’ 

The episode had barely started when his headset beeped in his ear again, and he sighed, pausing the show before pushing the button on the earpiece to open the line. 

“Thanks for calling; Your pleasure is--”

“Terribly sorry,” the voice on the other end babbled, interrupting Crowley’s spiel. “That was incredibly rude of me, hanging up like that.”

It wasn’t easy for a caller to catch Crowley off guard, but for a moment he was speechless. No one had ever apologized for hanging up before. They usually didn’t even call back, considering it was almost always one of those two pump John’s that were just wasting his time.

“That’s alright, sweetheart,” he purred once he’d regained his senses. “You don’t need to be nervous.”

“That… that obvious, is it?” The tremble in the other man’s voice was nearly audible.

“Just a bit, but don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you.”

The man on the other end chuckled, a bit nervous still, Crowley could tell, but this was his specialty. This guy was clearly polite, well educated, and soft spoken, which gave him a good jumping off point.

“We can start slow, if you like. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

There was a pause on the other end, and he could tell the caller was a bit surprised. They usually were, their first time. But he never brought up anything sexual until the caller did, anything to keep them on the line as long as possible.

“Anything you’d like,” he encouraged, “even if you think it’s boring.”

“Er, well…” the man started, voice still somewhat shaky. “There’s not much to say, really. I’m… well, I’ve found myself rather recently single, I guess. Not by choice. I mostly just love to read and analyze old texts… Nothing you’d be interested in, I’m sure.”

His voice trailed off for a moment, and Crowley almost laughed out loud as the man seemed to realize that what he’d just said might have been rude and began to very quickly backtrack.

“Not that you couldn’t be! Not that I think it’s… above you, or anything. It’s just that no one is really ever interested in it…” 

A scholar, then. Probably sitting in some dusty, dark old basement surrounded by a veritable hoard of old books and broken pottery. Crowley could work with that. “That’s a shame. I’m sure it’s a more interesting discipline than most people give it credit for. What sort of texts? Do you have a focus?” Distract him from his nervousness, that was Crowley’s faithful plan of attack, and scholars loved nothing more than to gush about their field.

“Religious studies mostly,” he said. “It _ is _ rather fascinating, and the texts tend to be beautifully ornate. Stunning to behold, actually. I do translations, occasionally.”

“I spent a bit of time in the library vaults at university,” Crowley said, being honest for a change. It wasn’t like it was excessively personal, and if it kept the man engaged, it’d be worth it. “How many languages do you know?”

“Oh, five or six, not including English.” the man replied. “Latin obviously, and Greek. Hebrew, Arabic, Japanese, some Italian… I always wanted to learn French, but never got around to it.”

It was possible the man was lying - that’d hardly be anything new. The men who called him tended to want to sound impressive. But something about the clipped, polished tone, and the anxious way he approached each question gave Crowley pause in his usual judgements.

“Incredibly impressive,” he replied, voice low and smooth. “Religious studies, hm? Have you got a name I can call you, Angel?”

The surprised intake of breath on the other line, followed by a telltale silence, told him it was clearly the wrong thing to ask, and it was his turn to backtrack now.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he reassured him. “Most people lie, actually. But for now, how about I keep calling you Angel, hm? Seems rather fitting, actually.”

He could tell it was the right thing to say, as a relieved sigh could be heard in his ear.

“Oh! Thank you… er… That’s very kind of you!”

“Nothing here happens without your wanting it to, Angel. That’s how this works, yeah? The last thing I want is for you to be uncomfortable.” It wasn’t very often that Crowley had to go to such lengths to reassure a client. They usually wanted to get right to it. It was almost endearing. 

“What should I call you?” the angel asked, voice still rather timid, but curious.

He wracked his brain for a moment; this was always something that could be hit or miss. Something that the caller would find sexy without being ridiculous, and after a moment he thought of The Inferno. This guy seemed like he could use a little bit of fire.

“I’m Dante, Angel.”

The line went silent again and for a moment, Crowley was worried that he had lost him again, but then he could hear a deep, almost ragged breath through the phone and he knew he did good with that one.

“Are you going to drag me through hell?” The man was chuckling nervously, clearly trying to make a joke but Crowley had found his in and he was taking it.

“No, Angel,” he breathed, pausing a moment for effect. “I’m going to take you to heaven.”

-

Azra felt as though Dante had sucked all the air out of his lungs. They hadn’t talked about anything sexual, which had initially thrown him off, but to his surprise, he didn’t think he had ever been as turned on as he was right at this moment.

“When you say it like that, I’m not sure that heaven would have you.” He was surprised how steady his voice was, and how coherent his response. “Seems a bit, ah, sinful, don’t you think?”

“Well, you’re the expert, Angel. Lust is my specialty, sure, but I don’t know much about heaven.”

Azra swallowed the little knot of anxiety in his throat. This was an opening if he’d ever seen one, and he was getting rather tired of being nervous. “Perhaps I could teach you.”

“I think you’d find I’m an eager student. Hungry, you might even say.” 

Azra shivered a little, drawing himself further back into the sofa cushions. “Gluttony too,” he murmured. “I’m quite certain of it now, my dear, you’re too much for heaven to handle.”

“How about you?” the voice on the other end asked, low and teasing. “Am I too much for _ you _ to handle?”

All of a sudden, Azra’s collar was a little too tight. He pulled at the material and slipped open the top button, half expecting to see steam rolling off of his hot skin. “Not at all. I know just what to do with your sort.”

“What’s that, then?”

“Something strenuous.” Another button falls prey to the heat. “Something to really impress upon you what it is you need to learn.”

“Press _ upon _me? I think I’d much rather you press into me.”

It took a moment for Azra’s exceedingly distracted brain to make sense of what had just been said to him but once he had, everything ground to a rapid and grinding halt. “Oh! Oh, I didn’t mean… what I mean to say is that, ah, why… why don’t you tell me what it is that you want me to do?” 

He was beginning to panic, afraid that he’d gone too far, and his frantic heartbeat slipped from lust to terror in a fraction of a second. “I’m sorry.”

There was a momentary pause where Azra worried that he may have just ruined everything. Dante didn’t take long to reassure him, however, and just the sound of his voice seemed to put him at ease.

“It’s alright, Angel.” Dante’s voice was soft and low again, soothing the panic out of Azra as he spoke. “You don’t need to apologize for anything.” If he noticed the sudden shift in Azra’s demeanor, he didn’t mention it. “Why don’t you take your shirt off for me?”

Azra let out a long breath, the tension leaking back out of his body. “Yes, alright,” he said, trembling hands coming up to undo the rest of his buttons. For some reason he was anxious to be taking his clothes off, though he figured it must have to do with the fact that he was in the bookshop, rather than at home.

He supposed there was no way for Dante to know whether he had done as he was told, but another part of him _ wanted _ to obey. It felt… good. Hesitantly he pulled the shirt from his shoulders and draped it over the back of the bookshop’s sofa, before sitting down.

“Can you imagine my hands on you, sliding over you?” Dante breathed. “You’re so warm, Angel.”

Azra let out a shaky breath in response, tentatively touching his own chest. He had never quite liked touching his own body more than was necessary, even through clothing. It had always made him feel distinctly uncomfortable, and all he could think about were the things that were wrong with him. But he closed his eyes, and tried to imagine that his hands were someone else’s… Dante’s, and that his body looked and felt the way that Dante would want it to.

“I bet your throat is delicious,” Dante continued. “I bet your collar bones are better, just begging for a little nibble. It’s overwhelming just to press my lips to you. Do you have any idea what it’s doing to me?” 

“N-no…” Azra managed to breathe out in response. “But if it’s anything like what you’re doing to me, I think… I think I could imagine.”

“I’m lost,” Dante said simply. “Lost in you completely. I don’t know how I’m going to stand seeing more of you, Angel. What do you look like? I bet you’re gorgeous.”

Azra’s eyes flew open at this, and he froze for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. He didn’t want to lie, but he could hardly tell Dante the truth.

“Er… rather nondescript, I’m afraid, my dear. I’ve got blonde hair and blue eyes but…” He scrambled for something else to say, but found himself coming up short. “But other than that, I’m just rather plain.”

Dante hummed, as if turning this information over in his mind. “I don’t know about all that. You sound anything but plain to me. Besides, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I have perfect vision.”

That was a line if Azra had ever heard one. Everything in him itched to point out that Dante hadn’t actually _ seen _him, which was rather the point, but he suppressed it to the best of his ability. Things had been going so well, he didn’t want to derail them now.

Rather than push the issue, he let out a soft laugh, and closed his eyes again, trying to regain the calm he had had before Dante had asked the question.

“I… I love the way your hands feel...” He was mumbling, attempting to change the subject, and winced at how awkward he had made it sound. It all felt a little ridiculous, they were his own hands and he knew it, but if he could just get back to how he had been feeling a few minutes ago… 

“Not as much as I love the way you feel under me.” Dante picked back up as if Azra hadn’t just made a mess of things. “Would you let me see more of you, Angel? You’re wearing too much, and I’d love for you to uncover some more of that lovely skin. There’s so much more for me to touch. Can you tell me what you’ve got on?”

“Well,” Azra began, looking down and appraising. “My trousers, of course, and my Oxfords.”

“Have you got a belt to keep me from undoing those trousers?” Dante’s voice sent shivers down his spine with even the simplest of questions. He could practically hear the smirk on his face and he shook his head before realizing that Dante wouldn’t be able to see.

“No,” he said quickly. “I’m wearing suspenders, actually. And my undershirt.”

Dante tutted then, disapproving, and Azra grew worried. Should he have lied about the belt?

“You didn’t tell me about the undershirt. Why don’t you unfasten those suspenders and take it off?”

Azra’s hands were trembling so strongly he wasn’t sure he’d be able to muster up the coordination to undo the clips. It took him longer than he’d have liked but eventually he freed them both and tugged the undershirt out free from his waistband and over his head.

The cool air in the back room slid over his heated skin and he shivered.

“How does it feel?” Dante murmured in his ear, and Azra breathed out a shaky laugh in response. 

“Cold,” Azra admitted.

Dante clicked his tongue again. “That won’t do. I suppose I’d better warm you up.”

Azra could hear him moving on the other end of the phone. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he could imagine Dante moving over him.

“I should probably apologize, seeing as I’m the reason you’re cold. It just seemed unspeakably tragic that you were so overdressed.” Dante made a thoughtful noise. “Although there are still quite a few bits I’d like to get off of you. Would you like to take off your trousers?”

“I…”

“You don’t have to, Angel. Whatever you want, remember?” Dante soothed. “I’ve got plenty to work with, never you mind. How about you close your eyes?”

“Okay,” Azra replied, the warm timbre of Dante’s voice relaxing him again as he let his eyes fall closed.

“I want you to touch yourself for me. Splay your hand on your stomach.”

Azra’s hands, which had tentatively begun at his sternum, stopped mid motion.

“Erm, could we… could we do something else?”

He felt truly wretched, and was sure Dante must be growing rather annoyed with him and how he always seemed to ruin the moment. Once again though, Dante surprised him.

“Of course, Angel.” There was a split second where Dante paused and Azra worried that he was going to ask why, but thankfully he continued on. “I want you to enjoy yourself. Why don’t you tell me what you like?”

“Oh, I… I don’t know, normal things I guess?”

God, he sounded like a blithering idiot. He hunched forward, raking his fingers through his hair and holding his head in his left hand, while the right still held the phone up to his ear.

“Sorry, I… maybe I wasn’t ready for this, I’m wasting your time, I’m sure.”

“You really aren’t, Angel, it’s okay. I want this to be good for you, whatever that means. Would you rather I go slower? Or not at all? This doesn’t have to go any further, if you don’t want it to.”

“No!” Azra exclaimed, cutting him off. “No, I… I do want it to. Go further, that is. I just…” His voice trailed off with a heavy sigh. “I’ve never done this sort of thing before, not even with a partner, and… Well I just feel rather ridiculous, if I’m being honest. I’m not the kind of person who does this.”

Dante laughed, but it wasn’t a cruel, mocking kind of laugh. It was a warm chuckle that sounded like it might be coming from his belly, and Azra couldn’t help but smile a little bit in response.

“And what kind of people _ do _ do this?” Dante asked. “And why can’t you be one of them? You’d be amazed at all the different kinds of people who call me.”

Azra took stock of himself, bare-chested on the little sofa in the back of his shop, and wondered why, indeed, he couldn’t be one of them. The answer came to him, unbidden, in Gabriel’s voice. 

_ You’re boring, Azra. _

“I suppose I’m just not interesting enough,” he said finally, his voice small. 

-

Crowley didn’t think he’d ever felt so absolutely _ gobsmacked _ in his life. He honestly didn’t think he had ever met anyone less boring than this Angel. In fact, he’d been glued to his couch from the moment he answered the phone, all of his attention focused entirely on this caller, which hadn’t happened in… well, in a _ long _ time.

The idea that the world had beaten this poor man down so low to be speaking about himself this way was enraging him.

Crowley couldn’t even really put his finger on what it was about this man that held his attention. It could have been his candid honesty and his unflinching politeness. It might have been something in the careful way he spoke, or the obvious passion his tone had held when he’d talked about his books. It might even have been the suspenders, because _ honestly. _

More easily, it might have been all of those things together.

Crowley made his living talking to all sorts of people with all sorts of quirks and interests and needs, but never once had he spoken to anyone quite like this man and that, he supposed, was what made him special. He wasn’t his usual brand of clientele, that was for sure, and while what he’d said _ had _ been true, that anyone could do this, there hadn't been anyone quite like Angel. 

“Now that’s just patently untrue,” he replied finally.

“You’re very kind, my dear, but it’s quite alright. I know who I am.”

Angel sounded resigned and the anger inside him at what or whomever had made him feel like this was beginning to simmer, but that’s not what Angel needed from Crowley right now. He collected himself for a moment before continuing.

“Then trust yourself,” Crowley urged. “You wouldn’t have called if you didn’t know that some part of you would enjoy this. Let yourself have it. Can you do that?”

He hoped that he’d said the right thing, only this time he wasn’t concerned with keeping him on the line; He wanted Angel to believe it. 

“Okay. Yes.” He sounded somewhat hesitant still, but quickly seemed to make a decision and continued. “Yes, I… I can do that.”

Crowley couldn’t help the small smile that sprung to his lips. “Wonderful,” he breathed. “Now where were we?” He pretended to think it over. “That’s right, I was just contemplating how delicious you look. How about I have a taste?”

The soft exhale in his ear was like music to his ear and he smirked, feeling very pleased with himself indeed.

“Is that a yes, Angel?” he teased. “I’m going to need your full consent here, after all.”

“Y-yes! It is. Sorry!”

“No need to apologize,” he reminded, chuckling for good measure. “Now, where to start…” He paused a moment, as if he were deliberating, building up the tension and curiosity before he continued. “I bet your jaw is just _ begging _ to be kissed and that neck… I’d love to just sink my teeth into it. Would you like that?”

“Oh, please,” Angel panted. “I’d like that… very much.”

“Good,” he grinned, cataloguing in his mind everything that was successful. “You taste _ incredible_, Angel. I just can’t get enough of you. Can you touch your nipples for me? I want to run my fingers over them and hear your breath catch when you pinch them.”

The answering little gasp was like music to Crowley’s ears. 

“You make the most beautiful noises, Angel. I can’t wait to hear what you sound like when my hand’s on your cock.”

“Oh my lord…” he breathed into Crowley’s ear.

“Why Angel, that’s almost blasphemous,” he teased. “I _ like it_, let’s see what else I can draw out of you. Maybe it’s you that needs a lesson in being _ devilish_.” He hummed into his headset, letting Angel’s quick breaths steep for a moment before going on. “Do you know what I like most about suspenders?”

“No,” Angel’s voice was coming through breathless and soft and Crowley was feeling rather pleased with himself over it, considering what it took to get there. “What?”

“I don’t have to bother with undoing a belt to get my hands inside your trousers.” his voice was low and wicked as he spoke and it clearly hit its mark.

“Oh!” Angel exclaimed softly, voice surprised, but appreciative.

“Can you unbutton them for me, Angel? I want to wrap my hand around that gorgeous cock of yours.”

The only response Crowley got was a soft whimper and a quiet rustling of cloth in the background. 

“Hard for me already, aren’t you? You feel just as good in my hand as I thought you would. Warm and heavy, just like I imagined. I wonder what you’d feel like on my tongue.”

“Ohh…”

“Yes, that’s it,” Crowley purred into the headset. “How does my tongue feel?” There was a pause on the other line and he began to backtrack, worried he had gone too far. “If it’s too much, you don’t have to tell me. I can tell you what you taste like instead.”

“No, you… it feels incredible.”

“Good,” he encouraged. “Your cock is incredible. I could sit here between your legs all night just to have a _taste_.”

“D-Dante,” Angel whined, and Crowley was reasonably sure that was probably the last coherent thing he’d hear from him for the rest of their conversation. 

“Are you close, Angel? Are you going to come down my throat?”

“W-w-wait, not yet!” Angel was nearly desperate, and Crowley could only imagine it had taken every ounce of his willpower to stop whatever it was he was doing. 

“Is everything alright?” He sat up, from where he had been reclining on the couch and George shifted behind him, giving him a withering stare which he returned in kind.

“Yes just… I’m sorry, it’s probably silly, I just…”

“Angel, what have I said about apologizing?” His words were an admonishment, but the tone was as gentle as he could muster and he went on. “And I promise you, nothing you ask for is silly. You can tell me.”

The silence stretched between them a moment, punctuated only by Angel’s labored breaths, and Crowley waited, patient.

“Would you… and it’s quite alright if you’d rather not, I promise, but…”

He stopped for another moment, and Crowley could not fathom what he could possibly be so afraid to ask for. Still, he remained quiet, letting him sort out his thoughts, and not interrupting.

“But would you kiss me?” His voice was so soft and timid, and Crowley was dumbstruck. “Please?” He finished after a beat, and the anxiety in his voice was palpable.

Crowley hadn’t been sure what it could have been, but he certainly hadn’t been expecting _ that_. 

That Angel would get so worked up, so _ afraid _ of asking for something so simple, rekindled a bit of that earlier fury. Someone had hurt him, that much was obvious. While it was true that Crowley knew better than to judge his clients solely based on how they acted on the phone, he still couldn’t imagine anyone being so cruel as to deny Angel _ kisses_. 

“Oh, Angel, of course.”

-

Azra let go of the breath he had been holding in anticipation, and sighed, the relief coursing through him that Dante hadn’t said no.

“Tilt your head back, darling, let me reach you,” Dante murmured, and Azra imagined he could feel his fingers on his jaw, helping him along. “Oh, that’s lovely, Angel, you’re beautiful like this. I can practically see the pulse jumping in your throat. Do you think the heat of your skin would burn my mouth if I were to kiss you there? How about your jaw? Your ear? Will the flush on your cheeks stain my lips?”

Azra whimpered in response, the anticipation building in him with the tenderness of Dante’s words and he could feel himself moving back towards the precipice from that alone. He absentmindedly reached for his cock, not wrapping his fingers around it as he had before, but just barely touching.

He tentatively drew his other hand along his jaw and neck as Dante continued, imagining that the feather light touch of his fingertips were the brush of Dante’s lips. His hips were beginning to rock up into the open palm of his hand on their own accord, and his breaths were coming up short.

“Oh... Please don’t tease…”

“Who’s teasing, sweetheart? I’ve just saved the best for last. Let me trace those with my fingertips first, they're so deliciously soft.”

“Oh, oh, Dante, you needn’t… You don’t have to--”

“_Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,_” Dante murmured, low and rich. “But Angel, have not saints lips?”

Azra’s back arched away from the sofa as he imagined Dante’s mouth closing the breath of space between his own. His fingers finally wrapped back around his cock and he gasped, thrusting into his hand and imagining that Dante was there to swallow the noise himself.

It was all too much. Azra’s eyes prickled behind his eyelids and his ragged, desperate breathing turned into something a little more raw. No one had given him this much care in… Well, no one had _ ever _ given him this much care.

“Your lips are so beautiful… the idea that anyone could ever _ stop _ themselves from kissing you is a crime, Angel.”

Warm, fat tears began rolling down Azra’s cheeks and his breath hitched in his throat as Dante continued speaking.

“God, kissing you is simply heavenly… _ Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged._”

Azra keened, mouth open and back arching as he finally fell over the edge, crying out as he spilled into his hand. Dante was still talking, but Azra couldn’t focus on the words through the deafening wave of his own pleasure.

He couldn’t remember a time when he had ever come so hard, but he was too satisfied to feel embarrassed that just the idea of being kissed by this stranger had gotten him there. Instead, he lay back against the couch, letting himself come back into the world, chest heaving as his breath returned to a normal cadence.

Finally he opened his eyes, blinking them back into focus. The sweat on his skin was beginning to cool and he shivered, but he was still too relaxed to go for his clothing. Besides, he was still on the line with Dante, and he didn’t want to be rude.

“That was…”

His words seemed to escape him, and he floundered for a moment before giving up.

“Thank you,” he said finally, the only thing he could manage to think of.

“I should be thanking you, Angel,” Dante purred after a beat of silence. “For showing me everything I need to know of heaven.”

Azra chuckled, cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment as he remembered the entirely blasphemous, Dante had been right, things that he had said. He found he didn’t regret a single thing, however, and he wiped sheepishly at the tears that remained on his cheeks, sniffling ever so slightly.

“Are you alright, Angel?”

“Oh! Yes, I’m quite alright, I’m--”

He paused, stopping himself before he could apologize again, Dante’s insistence against it ringing in his ears.

“I’m wonderful, actually.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we hope you enjoyed - we'd love to hear your feedback! feel free to leave a comment and/or come say hi on tumblr!!
> 
> [@enbyziraphale](https://enbyziraphale.tumblr.com) and [@artist-formerly-known-as-crawley](https://artist-formerly-known-as-crawley.tumblr.com)
> 
> <strike>We'll see you next Wednesday!</strike>
> 
> **EDIT (10/9)** We had a really busy week and will probably not be able to update today!! We may update later this week if we can, but may take the week off from updating, and post Chapter 6 next Wednesday, 10/16! More info here in [this tumblr post](https://enbyziraphale.tumblr.com/post/188239202536/leave-the-light-on-chapter-6-update) \- follow us there to keep up to date!


	6. It's a Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anathema shares her big news with Crowley as he tries to pretend he's not hoping to hear back from a certain Angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all thanks for your understanding last week! Six ended up being a bit longer than we expected, so hopefully it was worth the wait!

_ I’m wonderful, actually_.

Crowley sat there a moment in stunned silence, shocked that he was still on the line and was making no indication that he planned to hang up. Angel was full of surprises, it seemed, and he could feel a grin spreading across his face at the warmth in his tone. He couldn’t remember the last time his work had ever felt so… fulfilling, as it did in that moment, thinking about where this new caller had begun the call and how far he had come so quickly.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, and he found it wasn’t just a line.

It wasn’t necessarily uncommon for Crowley to take a bit more interest in some clients, especially the regulars. It was all just work to him, sure, but he couldn’t forget that the people he spoke to were, well, _ people_, and it was nice to know sometimes that he could have a positive impact on someone who needed it. Still, he had a feeling that Angel was shaping up to be a different case, and he wasn’t even sure what that meant.

“Do people… well, do people usually stick around on these calls?”

“Not usually,” Crowley replied, resolving then and there to be honest with Angel whenever possible. “Generally speaking, most people hang up as soon as they finish.”

“Oh dear, I do hope I’m not using up too much of your time!” God, what planet was this man from? He was adorable. Crowley could almost laugh. “I’d hate to keep you from your other callers!”

“You aren’t keeping me from anything, sweetheart. My time is yours as long as you want it.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, really I do, but I’d best be letting you go.” He paused, as if trying to figure out where to go from there. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.”

A small, confusing part of Crowley’s brain was actually _ disappointed_, and he found he didn’t want Angel to hang up.

“You too, Angel,” he said instead of the battery of responses that smashed against the side of his skull, meant to entice him to stay on just a little bit longer. “Call back any time.” He tried to sound suave and sure of himself, but he couldn’t help but worry that he instead sounded rather hopeful, and cringed.

It seemed like Angel was going to say something else, but nothing ever came except for a shaky breath and a very cordial, “Goodnight, Dante.” 

Crowley would take it.

“Goodnight, Angel.”

The line in his ear went dead and Crowley heaved a sigh, leaning his head back against the sofa. “Well. That was a thing.”

He didn’t know what he expected, looking to George for any kind of response. All he received was a flick of a forked tongue followed by the quiet slide of his scales against the upholstery and a muffled thud as he slithered off of the sofa to seek out greener and, presumably, Crowley-free pastures. 

\--

The week slipped by as the weeks always did; an endless repeat of work, sleep, and coffee interspersed with a few pleasant conversations with some of his more long-term regular customers. 

He knew it was unrealistic to even expect Angel to call back at all, let alone before the week was out, but each time the phone rang a small spark of excitement leapt to life before he had the chance to douse it with the cold waters of reality. He was being foolish.

Anathema had been texting him non-stop trying to make plans and, while he knew it made him a bit of a shit friend, he had been avoiding committing to anything. He refused to acknowledge though, that it was because he didn’t want to be away from the phone too long on the off chance that _ someone _ might call. That would just be pathetic.

The man currently on the other end of the line was making strained grunting sounds, and the telltale sound of his lubed cock pumping through his tight fist could be heard entirely too clearly. Crowley couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“God, you’re so fucking tight, Jack,” the caller whined through the phone.

_ Was this guy ever gonna come? _

“So tight,” the man was panting in his ear through the receiver. “You feel so good around my cock, don’t you, you little slut? You barely even needed me to prep you.”

Crowley withheld the observation that not _ needing _ preparation would actually indicate that he wasn’t actually very tight at all, and instead moaned in agreement, babbling his assent. Anything to encourage this guy to just _ come already_, they’d been at this for so long.

Normally he’d be ready to bleed his wallet dry, but this was one of the most boring calls he’d ever had and he couldn’t help but worry that a certain someone might call. The idea that Crowley might miss him while wasting his time on this absolutely pedestrian call only pushed him to keep trying.

“Go on,” he urged. “Fill me up, baby. I know you want to.” He was breathing heavily, doing his best to sound as needy as possible. “Your cock feels so fucking good, I want to feel your come inside me.”

“Patience,” the man grunted, the pace of his furious, slick sounds increasing. From just his tone, Crowley could tell he thought he was being enticing, as he continued. “You’ll get it when I’m good and ready for you to have it.”

He could play along, but he really hoped he’d be _ good and ready _ sooner rather than later. Even his hourly rate wasn’t enough to keep him interested. 

“In fact,” the man continued, “why don’t you beg me for it?”

Crowley had grown rather good at the ‘grin and bear it’ philosophy where his work was concerned but he was finding it a little more difficult than usual this time around to switch that on. He gritted his teeth and steeled himself, trying to focus on the idea that if he did this well enough, soon he’d be free of this guy. 

“Oh, please,” he whined. “Please, I _ need _ it.”

“How bad do you need it?”

It was all Crowley could do to not groan out loud, but the man was starting to pant pretty heavily, which was at the very least a good sign. And he was a good actor.

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about,” Crowley lied stunningly. “All day I’ve been hoping someone would be man enough to satisfy me and so far you’ve been the only one up to the challenge. You’ve got what I need and no one else can give it to me. _ Please._”

“Fuck,” the man grunted, panting harder into Crowley’s ear. “I didn’t know you were so desperate.” 

“Desperate for _ you._”

A few frantic noises and a deep moan signaled the end of Crowley’s suffering. The line went dead in his ear.

He leaned back with a sigh, pressing his fingers gently against his closed eyelids until shapes bloomed behind them.

“Jesus fucking Christ, what a prick.”

He _ could _ sign off for the night and spend the evening relaxing with George and watching TV. He couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a night off. He could even call Anathema back. If he waited much longer she’d be sure to rip him a new one but… 

He huffed a heavy sigh and let his head fall back in frustration. This was pathetic, even for him. But Crowley had actually _ enjoyed _ talking to Angel, which was not something he could say about most of his clients and it was actually bumming him out that he hadn’t called back. It was hardly unheard of, but his regulars rarely waited more than a week between calls, and the likelihood that it had been a one off was increasing by the day. The fact that it even bothered him so much was an entirely different issue.

“Could you just wrap yourself around my chest and crush me, Georgie? Put me out of my misery?”

George looked like he would like nothing more, but was simply too lazy to move. 

“Useless creature.” 

He made a grab for his mobile and contemplated it for a moment, scrolling through two weeks worth of texts from Anathema. She had been trying to get him out of his flat for over a week and he had thus far been avoiding it, unsure himself of why. He loved Anathema and they’d been mates for such a long time, but there was nothing Crowley liked more than cancelling plans or, better yet, not making them in the first place.

Heaving a sigh as he realized he was being a pretty shit friend, he finally fired off a text in response.

_ Something I can help you with? _

Anathema’s response was almost immediate.

_ Don’t be a dick. I want to talk to you about something. Drinks? _

Crowley rolled his eyes. 

_ We’re talking now, aren’t we? Neither of us even had to move. _

_ I’m sure you can take time out of your busy schedule. Meet me at the Tin Baron in 20. _

Crowley was already tapping out his reply when another text came through.

_ That wasn’t a question btw. _

He scowled down at his mobile for a moment, but hauled himself up off the sofa anyway. He’d already resigned himself to the fact that Angel wasn’t going to call tonight.

\--

The pub was way too loud for a Tuesday night, and Crowley said as much when he collapsed in a pile of limbs on the barstool next to Anathema.

“I know,” she said. “I can’t even hear the tiny violin being played for you.”

“I prefer the viola, actually.”

“Whatever. Listen, I have something important to tell you.”

“Oh God,” Crowley said, feigning horror. “You’re pregnant.”

Anathema punched him in the arm. “No!” 

Crowley rubbed at the sore spot on his bicep, affronted. “That’s assault.”

“No jury would convict me.”

“They wouldn’t bother with a jury, they’d just deport you.”

“Now maybe, but not in a few months.”

“What’s _ that _ supposed to… Oh,” he said, cutting himself off as the realization dawned on him.

Anathema had hoisted her left hand onto the bar top, the ring on her finger catching in the low light. 

Of course Crowley was happy for her; she and Newt had been together since university and, really, they were perfect for each other, nearly disgustingly so. Still, the joy he felt for his friend was a bit overshadowed by a quiet pang of jealousy. 

He would never, ever begrudge Anathema her happiness, but it was moments like this that made him question why he hadn’t found his own. 

“Congratulations,” he said earnestly. “You two deserve the world.”

“Thanks.” Anathema was practically glowing. “How would you feel about being my best man?”

Crowley’s jaw dropped. He guessed that it shouldn’t have been such a surprise, given that Anathema rarely talked about other friends to him and she wasn’t from around here, but a bride having a best man wasn’t exactly traditional. Neither was Anathema, though.

“Are you serious?” he asked, once he worked past the shock. “Of course.”

“Great!” Anathema beamed at him. “It wouldn’t be right without you there with me.” 

“Ugh, stop with the sentimentality, you’re making me sick!” he teased, pulling a faux disgusted expression that was quickly overtaken by a stubborn smile. “You’re getting soft in your old age.”

“Old age? You’re one to talk. Is that a grey hair?” She made a grab for Crowley’s head but he ducked her hand easily.

“Absolutely not,” he sniped. “My hair wouldn’t dare-- hey!”

He yelped as she reached across the table once again and hit her mark this time, yanking on his hair and pulling out the offending strand which she brandished in his face. It was decidedly silver. “What do you call that?”

“Gold. I’m _ ginger._” His retort came easily but the knot in his stomach grew tighter. He wasn’t getting any younger and there was the tangible truth of it pinched between Anathema’s fingers.

“It’s grey and you know it, grandpa.”

“Seems to me like your eyesight is starting to go,” he sniffed, pushing down the gnawing anxiety that old and alone forever were growing ever more synonymous in his vocabulary. “Don’t worry, I hear they’re doing beautiful things with bifocals these days. I can ask the checker lady at Tesco to refer you to her optometrist. I’m sure she’d be happy to help, seems lonely, honestly. Always trying to make conversation.”

“She’s probably just flirting with you. I bet she’s into older men.”

“Excuse you, she is old enough to be my mum.”

“And you’re old enough to remember loading animals into the ark,” she was grinning at him, eyes twinkling with delight and he rolled his eyes to mask the smile that was worming its way back onto his own face.

“Good thing I was there, who else would have made sure you made it on with the other cows?” he retorted, laughing outright now as she punched him again. “Ow, god damn, how do you always hit the same spot?”

“Cows are experts on spots.”

“Oh come on, that was weak. You can do better than that.”

“I mean, I could always just punch you again.”

“No!” Crowley said, far too quickly, grabbing his arm automatically. “I’m already going to be bruised for days. I’m _ sensitive._”

“Pathetic, more like.”

“Is this the sort of treatment I can expect as your best man? Gracious, I can’t _ imagine _ what poor Newton must go through. Does he know you can punch through brick, or are you saving that for the honeymoon?”

“Sorry honey, I don’t kiss and tell,” she replied, winking as she did so.

“Oh god, don’t _ wink _ when you say it, that’s worse! Now I can’t stop picturing you in latex with that poor sod of a fiancé cowering at your feet!”

“You’re welcome,” she said airily. “You should buy me a drink to thank me.”

“I’ll buy you a drink, but it’s a ‘Congratulations On Your Engagement’ drink, not a ‘Thank You For Scarring Me For Life’ drink, you monster.” 

“Fine, have it your way,” she replied, rolling her eyes and signaling for the waiter.

\--

The rest of the week played out as it always did. Rarely leaving his house and spending several hours a day glued to his earpiece. Angel still hadn’t called back, and Crowley was still trying very hard to pretend he didn’t care.

There was no reason why he _ should _ care. He had plenty of one-off customers, that was nothing strange, and Angel was just one of an endless series of callers who flitted in and out of his life. He had never cared when the others didn’t become regulars, and there was no reason to be bothered about this one in particular. He couldn’t stop thinking about how much he had enjoyed that call though. Not the way Angel had, of course, he never jerked off when he was working, but he had _ liked _ Angel.

He was sweet, and shy, and had clearly needed the encouragement, which Crowley had been more than happy to provide. Being able to hear a guy like him come out of his shell because of something Crowley had done to help was one of the more rewarding parts of the job.

It was getting late, and Crowley was resigned to another evening without Angel making a reappearance. His last call had been short, but it was the sort of very _ difficult _ call that always left him feeling drained. He was ready to log off for the night and push George out of his bed when the earpiece beeped in his ear.

He very strongly considered letting the call ring out unanswered. Whoever it was wouldn’t get charged if he did, and it wasn’t like he was hurting for cash. He wasn’t sure he had the energy for another.

The beeping continued long enough while he dithered about it that Crowley was surprised the system hadn’t kicked it back and he sighed.

_ One more_, he told himself. And then he’d be done for the night no matter what.

He closed his eyes and took one more deep breath, praying this one wouldn’t be as bad as the last one, and pressed the button on his earpiece to accept the call.

“Thanks for calling,” he murmured, dropping easily into his practiced tone. “Your pleasure is my business.”

“Ah, hello,” a familiar voice spoke into his ear and Crowley couldn’t help but grin. “Am I speaking with Dante?”

“Angel, I thought you’d never call back.”

“Oh!” Crowley fancied he could _ hear _ Angel’s cheeks flushing, and if that wasn’t the most adorable thought, he didn’t know what was. “I didn’t think you’d remember.”

“Now,” he admonished, voice light and teasing. “How could I ever forget you? I’ve been thinking about you all week.”

He might be laying it on thick with his tone, but while this was a line he used frequently with callers, this time he was actually serious. The laugh that it elicited tinkled like a bell in his ear, and he couldn’t stop the smile it brought him.

“Oh, I bet you say that to all your callers.” Angel’s tone was warm and indulgent as he called him on it, and Crowley laughed right back.

“Alright, you caught me, but this time I meant it, and _ that’s _ something I almost never say.” 

Crowley was glad George hadn’t taken him up on his offer.

“Oh… Well. I’ve been… thinking about you too, rather.”

“What kept you from calling?” Remembering how skittish Angel had been, he made sure to keep his voice light and flirtatious. He didn’t want to sound accusatory and scare him off, but he couldn’t help but be curious.

The silence that followed nearly convinced Crowley that he hadn’t done as good a job as he’d thought, but finally Angel answered. 

“I… suppose I didn’t want to waste your time. Though I’m sure you’ll insist that I’m being ridiculous.”

“Well I’d never call you ridiculous, Angel, but I _ will _ remind you that you’re not wasting anyone’s time, least of all mine.” And then, with a waggle of his eyebrows that Angel couldn’t see, continued. “You were thinking about me, though, hm? What were you thinking about?”

“I’m certain you know already.”

“I really don’t, and besides, it’s much more fun to hear about it from you. You have such a lovely voice.”

“Oh er, well, thank you, I… I don’t…” Angel was clearly flustered and continued with a few more uncertain false starts for another moment before Crowley took pity on him and switched gears.

“But you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. This is all about what you want, and what you’re comfortable with, remember? Why don’t you just tell me about your week?”

“It was hardly very interesting or eventful,” he said, seeming to brush it off entirely even in his tone. “I’d bore you to tears, my dear.”

“You could never.”

“You have too much faith in me, I’m afraid,” and good _ lord_, Crowley wanted to fight whoever it was that had made this man think so little of himself.

“Well then,” Crowley said, choosing to ease back and keep things light rather than push. “If we can’t talk about all of those naughty thoughts you’ve been having, and we can’t talk about your week, whatever should we talk about?”

Angel, adorably, choked a little bit at ‘naughty.’ “Well,” he began after composing himself. “What would _ you _ like to talk about? I imagine you don’t often get to do that with, er… customers.”

“No, you’re right about that,” Crowley laughed. “Though, people generally don’t call phone sex lines just to have a chat, Angel,” he finished, practically purring the last bit, and imagining the flush that must be on Angel’s cheeks just about now. “Not that I’m not happy to oblige if that’s all you called for tonight.”

“Perhaps… well I’d…” Crowley smiled fondly as Angel stammered his way into coherency. He was really going to have to work with him on being able to ask for what he wanted, but for now he would wait patiently. “It’s not _ all _ I called for,” he finally continued, chuckling anxiously. “I’d er, if you wouldn’t mind, that is, perhaps you could tell me what _ you _ were thinking of this week?”

Crowley definitely wasn’t going to do _ that. _ He’d sound absolutely mad, going on about how refreshing and endearing it was to talk to someone like Angel. How he fixated on the sound of his voice. How his heart leapt each time the phone rang in anticipation of it being him only to be met with abject disappointment. That was hardly the sort of thing Angel wanted to hear right now and honestly, Crowley didn’t much want to dwell on it.

“So many things, Angel,” he purred. “Your skin, how you taste, those noises you made… I can’t wait to get my hands on you again. If that’s what you want, that is.”

“Y-yes, it is.” His voice was small, ever a bundle of nerves, but the affirmation was encouragement enough for Crowley to keep going.

“I was so hoping you’d say that. What are you wearing today? More suspenders?” Crowley lowered the pitch of his voice.

“Ha, yes. You’ll find I don’t have much variety or flair when it comes to style, my dear,” Angel chuckled sheepishly. “I found something functional that works for me and seem to have stuck with it.”

The fact that Angel took everything he asked as quiet judgment made Crowley’s chest ache. 

“I’m only asking because I want to know what it is I need to take off of you, gorgeous.”

“You shouldn’t say that.” Angel hadn’t missed a beat, as if his response was out of habit rather than reaction.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Crowley hoped Angel couldn’t hear the frown leaking into his tone.

“Because you haven’t seen me,” Angel said, and the matter of fact way he said it put Crowley on the defensive almost immediately. Angel didn’t give him a chance to argue though, and soldiered on before he could even open his mouth. “But what about you, my dear? What do I have the pleasure of removing off of you?”

“Oh, but I’d like to, Angel,” Crowley murmured, again choosing to let go of what was clearly a sensitive subject for now. “I’d show you just how much if I could just have you here in front of me. But to answer your question, I’m lounging at home so I’ve just got on my jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt.”

“How would you feel if I were to, ah, push my hands under the hem of that t-shirt?” It was a timid question, and Crowley was sure that Angel was still trying to deflect from the difficult topic, but it delighted him all the same.

“Oh, Angel,” he breathed. “I’d like nothing more. Your hands on me are a _ dream. _ Shall I take it off for you, or would you like to do the honors?”

Angel sucked in a breath.

“Yes, I’d like that very much,” he said, his voice hushed and wanting already.

“Talk me through it,” Crowley encouraged, pleased to see that Angel was beginning to take initiative. 

“Er, alright,” Angel replied, pausing for a moment and clearly at a loss for words. “Well, I’d very much like to slide my fingers up underneath first,” he began, and Crowley waited patiently for him to continue, the corner of his mouth upturning as Angel slowly came out of his shell. “Do some exploring.”

“I bet you’ve got lovely hands, Angel. Gentleman’s hands. Well-kept and soft. You’re so warm against me.”

“Can I kiss you again, Dante?”

Crowley almost laughed when Angel asked again; was he going to ask _ every time_? It was rather sweet, however.

“Please,” he breathed. “I was afraid you’d never ask.”

“I’d use one of my hands to brush along your cheek and maybe brush it through your hair first… What’s your hair like, my dear?”

“Wavy. A little bit long, just under chin-length,” he said, refraining from specifying further. A man with long, dark red hair was just uncommon enough to stick with half truths. “I could melt at the feeling of your fingertips on my scalp, Angel.”

“You’re lovely,” Angel said softly. “I’ll have to be careful, then,” he murmured, and Crowley could almost hear the warm smile in his voice.

“I’m not as fragile as all that.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to treat you roughly.”

“You can treat me however you’d like. All of this is for you.”

“That hardly seems fair.”

Angel really was something else. It was true that some of his clients preferred things soft, wanted the ‘Boyfriend Experience’ and all the sap that usually entailed, but even then their roles were clear. Crowley was meant to provide the fantasy; nothing done or said to him mattered. The purpose of his performance of pleasure was merely to serve their ego.

Angel didn’t seem to see it that way. 

“What’s really unfair is how long you’ve kept me waiting for that kiss, Angel. It’s practically cruel,” He teased, changing the subject.

“Patience is a virtue, my dear,” Angel chuckled, but acquiesced nonetheless. “Your lips are so lovely, my dear, I think I could kiss you for hours if you let me.”

“I think we’ve already established that I’m far from virtuous,” Crowley hummed in reply. “God, the feeling of your body against mine is _ delicious_, I can’t keep still.”

“It’s difficult to go on kissing you when you’re moving about like this.”

“Maybe you should hold me still, then,” Crowley suggested, his voice like honey as he tried to draw out some of the confidence that Angel had let slip briefly in their last call, before clamming up.

“I’d like nothing more.” There was a note of _ something _ in Angel’s voice that held promise of another peek of that self-surety. “For now, why don’t we get that shirt off of you, hm?”

“_Please, _Angel. I need your hands on me.”

“Far be it from me to deprive you, my dear. Though I can’t pretend my motives are entirely unselfish. Revealing all that lovely skin inch by inch is simply breathtaking_.” _

“Your hands are like fire,” Crowley breathed. “I’m going to burn up.”

“Perhaps I ought to cool you down? Would you mind terribly if I were to use my mouth?”

Crowley made an appropriate noise high in the back of his throat. “Angel, you can do whatever you want to me, though I doubt that gorgeous mouth of yours will do any good at cooling me down.”

Angel laughed at this, the warm and rich sound of it bleeding into his voice as he spoke.

“Indulge me, then,” he compromised. “As I’ve said, I’m not an entirely unselfish man and I’d very much like to kiss every inch of your torso, from your neck all the way to the waistband of your jeans.”

“I’m not entirely unselfish either, so I have no plans to stop you.”

“Good,” he replied. “Your lips are so delightful, I can only imagine what the rest of you will taste like.”

“Tell me,” Crowley urged. 

“Words can’t do you justice, I’m afraid.” Angel’s breathing had grown a bit uneven but his voice was still steady.

“Are you touching yourself, Angel?”

“Well, yes, I rather thought that was the idea,” he replied, and Crowley was delighted to hear a fond warmth in his voice, rather than the defensiveness he had worried he might bring about. 

“Tell me about it?” Crowley asked, waiting with bated breath when Angel paused before answering.

“You know I’d much rather be touching you, but that’s not exactly on the table is it?”

“I wish you could,” he replied.

“I’d like to ask you for something else though, if that’s alright?” A bit of his earlier self-consciousness was leaking back into his voice, rising up from where Crowley had hoped it had gone for good for some unknown reason, and he rushed to squash it before he closed down the way he had last time. 

“Anything,” Crowley promised, seeking to reassure. “Everything you’re doing is perfect, Angel. You’re so good to me. I could come undone just from your hands on my thighs.”

Angel was silent for so long that Crowley was afraid he’d said the wrong thing.

“My dear,” he began, finally. “If you’d permit me… I’d like to undo you in a different way.”

Crowley fancied he could _ hear _ Angel blushing. “Name it, sweetheart.”

More silence, as if Angel were trying to fish for the right words. “You’re under no obligation to agree, you understand, but I would quite like to… to have you.”

It took a moment for Crowley to wade through the formality of Angel’s request and figure out what he was asking. It struck him, yet again, that someone must have done something terrible to this man to make him so anxious about merely expressing his own desires, and on a phone sex line at that. That was the _ entire point _ of this whole exercise.

“Of course, if that’s not your… not your style, that’s quite alright!” he backtracked, seeming to take Crowley’s pause as a rejection. “Past partners have been quite against it, so I understand, I’m just as happy to --”

“Angel,” Crowley interrupted, cutting off any further chance for Angel to spiral, his voice low and serious. He was certainly surprised; given Angel’s uncertainty, Crowley had assumed that he would be taking the lead in both a literal and figurative sense, but he certainly wasn’t disappointed. On the contrary, he was delighted. “Believe me when I say I’d like nothing more.”

It did disturb him, however, in the way that everything else had, that Angel was so afraid to ask for this. It was neither the time nor the place to bring it up though, so he filed it away with everything else and forced his focus back to the task at hand.

A soft and breathless ‘_ Oh,’ _ echoed in Crowley’s ear, laced with surprise, as if Angel had expected him to decline and most certainly he had. “Would you lay back for me?”

“For the chance to feel you over me? Of course.”

“Good lord, you’re beautiful, Dante.” Angel whispered, his voice reverent and Crowley almost shivered, surprising himself.

He could imagine Angel closing his eyes to picture him, or rather, Angel’s idea of him, and wished for a moment that he knew what Angel looked like. A moment later, however, he shook the thought away and put his focus back on the voice in his ear.

“You flatter me, Angel,” he purred, and grinned at the heavy sigh that came in response. “You’re going to spoil me.”

“Oh I haven’t even _ begun, _ my dear. Where to even start,” he mused, pausing a moment, considering. “Perhaps… shall I remove those trousers, hm?”

“I was afraid you’d never ask. I hope it’s not too difficult for you, I think you’ll find they’ve grown a bit too tight.”

“Is that so?” Angel’s voice was cheeky and even sounded a bit pleased with himself.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what you’re doing to me,” Crowley chided, all tease and no edge. “You’re doing far too thorough a job to pretend like this was all a happy accident.”

“Well I’ll have to be just as thorough in working them down your hips, then. If they’re really as tight as all that, you must be terribly uncomfortable. Why don’t we give you a little bit of freedom?”

“_Please._”

“Oh, yes,” he whispered, laboured breathing soft in Crowley’s ear. “There we go. Have you got pants on?”

Crowley took a moment to consider his answer. He wasn’t sure what Angel would like best, or what he was expecting to hear, but he didn’t seem the sort to want Crowley to go commando. _ Suspenders, _after all.

“Yes,” he said in reply. “Just some dark grey briefs. I’m practically straining out of them for you.”

“God, you’re lovely. Now that those trousers are out of the way, I can feel you properly. If I spread those legs apart, it’s just a thin layer of cotton between my hand and your cock… There’s so much I could do. I could feel you with my fingers, or even taste you through the fabric… What do you like best?”

Angel’s question caught him by surprise and it took a moment for his brain to catch up. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been asked that before, and he had no idea how to respond without a backlog of pre-tested responses to twist to fit the situation. A small part of him wondered why it was that Angel always seemed to put the focus on Crowley’s enjoyment, rather than his own, especially since that was presumably what he was paying for.

It almost felt like he was avoiding something, but he guessed that they could work up to whatever it was in due time.

“I like you,” he settled on finally. “Anything, Angel. Anything you want to give me is exactly what I want.”

“Dante,” Angel tutted at him, disapproving but seeming to accept the answer for now, and continued. “Why don’t I start with my hand? I’ll trace lightly over the outline of you through those briefs… Really get a _ feel _ for you, hm?”

“Oh, Angel,” Crowley let his breath come in short gasps for Angel’s benefit, and was pleased at the appreciative noise he received in return.

“Dante, I love to feel you squirming underneath me, but I’m afraid I may lose control if you keep it up,” he panted. 

“Lose it,” Crowley urged, wanting to move toward the more steady, familiar ground of focusing on the caller’s pleasure rather than his own. 

“I’d very much like to attend to you first. How would you like it if I replaced my hand with my mouth?”

Angel’s seemingly single minded focus of making this enjoyable for _ Crowley _ was something he was struggling to figure out how to deal with. Even the regulars who liked to pretend they were in an actual relationship were never so insistent on taking care of him, and while Crowley had faked plenty of pleasure, and done so particularly enthusiastically, mind you, it was never what people called him for.

“Ngk. I’d love to know what you think I taste like, Angel," he finally settled on, hoping it was the right thing to say.

“Even through cotton, you taste exquisite," Angel replied. "Better than I ever imagined you could. You’re an absolute feast, my dear.”

Crowley whined, high and pretty. “You’re barely at the appetizer.”

“You must think I’m a terrible tease, forgive me. I just want to savor you.”

“You act like this is your only chance. I’m not going anywhere. You can do this whenever you want.”

Angel groaned softly in his ear and that, he thought, was progress. 

“Angel, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to lose my mind,” Crowley bit out, putting on an air of desperation in the hopes of encouraging him to let go.

“Oh my good lord.” Angel’s voice was trembling. “Let’s, let’s get you out of those pants.”

By the time he had finished talking Crowley through the rest, the removal of his last shred of clothing and the agonizingly slow process of preparing him with his fingers, Crowley had to firmly remind himself to keep focused; Angel was losing himself in the scene and it was so breathtaking that Crowley nearly lost himself, too. It was disconcerting enough that he managed to pull himself back as soon as he realized it was happening. It wasn’t the sort of thing he’d ever allow himself with a client, not that he’d ever want to.

He was used to focus being a chore, but not in this context. 

“Are you ready for me, my dear?” Angel’s voice was soft and breathless. 

“_Please._”

Angel groaned, low and deep, and Crowley whined in response, gasping words of encouragement.

“A-Angel, God, I can feel you everywhere.”

“Dante, _ oh_, you’re incredible. I don’t think… I’m afraid I’m going to lose my patience.”

“I want you to, Angel,” Crowley insisted. “God, you feel so good inside me, I’m so close.”

“May I… may I kiss you, my dear?”

So polite, even when Crowley could hear how close to the edge he was. 

“Please. You don’t even have to ask.”

Like before, that seemed to be what pushed Angel over the edge. He cried out in Crowley’s ear, murmuring nonsense as he worked through his release, and Crowley faked his own orgasm in encouragement.

Angel sighed heavily through the line, and Crowley couldn’t help but feel a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “That was wonderful, my dear, truly. Thank you.”

“I think I should be thanking you,” Crowley replied, the words coming easily.

“Oh I hardly think that’s true, but you’re very sweet.”

“I’m definitely not sweet, Angel, I’m wicked and sinful, remember?” he teased, thinking back to their first call last week.

“Of course you are, dear,” Angel replied indulgently, and Crowley laughed merrily in response. “Would it be quite alright if I were to call again next week? At the same time, perhaps?”

Crowley was thoroughly embarrassed by how pleased the thought made him. “I wish you would,” he said, grinning despite himself. “It’s a date.”

Angel chuckled and the sound was warm and pleasant. “In a week then. Goodnight, Dante.”

“Goodnight, Angel.

This time when the telltale click of the call ending sounded in his ear, Crowley turned off his earpiece. That was quite enough for tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we hope you enjoyed - we'd love to hear your feedback! feel free to leave a comment and/or come say hi on tumblr!!
> 
> [@enbyziraphale](https://enbyziraphale.tumblr.com) and [@artist-formerly-known-as-crawley](https://artist-formerly-known-as-crawley.tumblr.com)
> 
> As for next week's update, we hope to see you next Wednesday, but we're actually hanging out IRL for the first time next week! VentureTrain is gonna be road-tripping for a few days so we're just tentatively putting it out there that chapter seven may come late as well. Like last time, we'll keep you updated on tumblr!
> 
> **UPDATE AS OF 11/6/19:** we're working to update as soon as possible! For more info and for a call to action to get involved with the fight for sex work decrim, click [here!](https://enbyziraphale.tumblr.com/post/188862452621/leave-the-light-on-update)


	7. If You're Still With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting more intimate, tensions grow in the apartment building, and Crowley has a crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for all of your patience, as well as your feedback and support! We had so much fun hanging out, but with the rest of VentureTrain's traveling, and my work and event planning stuff, it's been a wild several weeks.
> 
> We're working on replying to all of your incredibly kind, wonderful comments on chapter six, and we're sorry it took us so long! As always, we read every single one as they come in, but we don't always have time to respond right away - just know that each and every one is such a bright spot in our days <3 We are so grateful for all of the love you have shown our fic, and we hope you enjoy chapter seven! It took awhile to write, but it's our longest one yet, so hopefully it will have been worth the wait!

“Thanks for calling,” Dante’s voice was warm as he picked up the phone. “Your pleasure is my business.”

“Good evening, dear.” Azra smiled.

“Angel! Good to hear from you.” Azra could nearly hear the smile in his voice.

“It is the usual time, isn’t it?”

“It is, but that doesn’t make it any less good to hear your voice.”

Azra’s cheeks flushed, even though he was sure it was just a line, and that most of Dante’s customers probably got the same treatment. “You flatter me.”

“Only because it’s true.”

“Cheek!” Azra laughed “How was your day, my dear?”

“Uneventful, I’m afraid. I had a bit of a lie in and spent some time getting some things done around the flat. I’m sure you’d be surprised to learn that I lead a very uneventful life.”

“Oh, I doubt that. Besides, you could say the same thing about me. Our weekly calls are probably the most interesting thing about me, if I’m being truthful, and that’s hardly an anecdote I’d share with anyone else.”

“No,” Dante replied, and the laugh that came with his words was gentle and soothing. “I can’t exactly picture you repeating the things that you say to me in polite company. And, given that, can I just say that I’m very glad that ‘polite company’ isn’t something I qualify for?”

“I think you’re quite polite.”

“Not what I meant, Angel,” Dante said, chuckling. “But thank you all the same. Despite the lack of excitement, I hope the week’s been treating you well… In lieu of anything noteworthy, why don’t you tell me what sort of scholarship you’re pursuing this week. Anything exciting in the world of religious texts?” 

“Oh, I think I may have misrepresented myself when we spoke last; it’s more of a hobby, to be honest!” He said, blushing at the idea that he had, even unintentionally, misled Dante. “I do occasionally do some freelance translation work, but for the most part, I’m simply a collector. What a terribly dull hobby to have, you must think.”

“I don’t think it’s dull at all, Angel,” Dante reassured him, and Azra smiled at his indulgence. “I bet your collection is magnificent. I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for medieval botanical texts, myself. I spent quite a bit of time in university pouring over the illustrations. The text was horrifically unscientific and entirely useless, but the art is stunning.”

And again, Dante surprised him. He knew he was intelligent and had gone to university, but they had never discussed it at length. Somehow, _ plants _ of all things was just as unpredictable of an interest as it was endearing.

“What was your degree in, exactly, if you don’t mind my asking?” he asked, hoping that it wouldn’t come across as pushy, or worse, condescending.

“I have a bachelor’s in general biology, and a master’s in botany and plant pathology.”

“Oh, well that’s fascinating, Dante!”

"Do you think so?” Dante asked, surprised laughter trailing along with the question. “I think it's probably my turn to apologize for being dull."

“No, not at all! I’ve got a bit of a black thumb myself unfortunately, but I’m always amazed by people who know how to keep them alive.”

"You've just got to put the fear of God into them. They have to believe you're going to hurt them if they don’t grow how you’d like them to."

That startled a laugh from Azra. “I’ve heard that speaking to plants can help them grow, but I didn’t think menacing them fell under that same umbrella.”

“You’ve just got to menace them properly is all,” Dante continued, as if he was telling Azra how to fix a leaking tap and not how to scare shrubbery into growing properly. “And you can’t be afraid to make good on your threats.”

“That doesn’t seem very sporting. I’m sure they’re trying their best.”

“They are if they know what’s good for them,” Dante said, raising his voice ever so slightly, and Azra could almost imagine him glaring down some poor unsuspecting plant in his line of sight.

“Did you have any career aspirations in mind when you went for your degrees?” he asked, in an attempt to steer the conversation in a direction he had a better handle on.

“Career aspirations?” 

“Oh!” Azra could have kicked himself for how that sounded. “Forgive me, that came out… I didn’t mean to _ imply _… You’ve a perfectly good and respectable career, my dear, please don’t think I was putting that down. I was simply allowing my curiosity to get the best of me.”

“I didn’t think you were, Angel, don’t worry,” Dante reassured. “I thought maybe I’d get into agricultural research or seed production, something like that. Might’ve been nice to get on at Kew Gardens, too. I didn’t have any concrete plans. Suppose if I had, that’s what I’d be doing. Things don’t always… work out.”

“Ah well, I certainly know how that goes.” Azra had a fleeting desire to ask what exactly hadn’t worked out, but he suspected that would be a little bit too personal. “Similarly, I suppose I might be doing my work in a more professional and lucrative capacity if I had gone about my own life differently. But things are what they are.”

“What is it that you’re doing now?”

“Oh er…” Azra paused, deciding how much information he really felt comfortable sharing. “I own a shop.”

“An entrepreneur?” 

“Hardly. That would be a generous way of putting it,” Azra granted. “But I do just well enough, I guess. I’d rather not go into much detail on that, if it’s all the same to you? Maybe this sounds silly after all we’ve already talked about, but I think I’d rather… not share too much identifying information.”

“It’s not silly at all, I understand completely,” Dante soothed. “The last thing I’d want to do is press you for information. But maybe for other things,” he teased, and Azra flushed at the change of subject.

“You think you’re so smooth don’t you?”

“Maybe,” Dante agreed, and Azra rolled his eyes. “Do you?”

_ Yes. _

“We’ll just have to see won’t we?”

“You give me such a _ hard _ time, Angel. It’s not fair.”

“Goodness, you never turn it off, do you?”

“Only because you turn me on.”

Azra rolled his eyes but smiled in amusement. “Do you have a list of one liners on hand that you reference, or have you just memorized them all?”

Dante gasped in mock affront. “Angel, I’m insulted. These are all one hundred percent fresh, harvested especially just for you.”

“Good _ lord_, you’re ridiculous,” Azra sighed, scrubbing at his face with his hand, but the grin on his face was unquestionable. “Go ahead and do your worst, anything to get past these lines. It’s not like you need them with me.”

“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t use them. I do like a bit of romance, Angel. I’m not a monster.”

Azra laughed outright. “That’s your idea of romance?”

“My lines are peak romance, thank you.”

“For your past and future partners’ sake, I certainly hope you’re joking.”

“You wound me. I think you’d better do something to make me feel better, or else I may start crying.”

“Oh is that right?” Azra asked, a wry, incredulous smile working its way across his face. “Well then, we can’t have that.”

\--  
  
Azra’s hand was wrapped tightly around his cock, his hips rutting slightly into it as he breathed heavily into the phone which was clutched precariously between his shoulder and his ear. Dante had been murmuring into his ear for several minutes and he found himself hardly able to do more than pant.

“Let go for me,” Dante purred into his ear, and Azra squeezed his eyes shut, imagining that his own thick fingers were Dante’s.

It didn’t take much more than that lovely image to send Azra over the edge, his own cry met with moaned praises from Dante that went unheard in the rush of his pleasure. 

Azra worked to catch his breath, heaving a pleasant sigh as his heart rate returned to a normal pace. These weekly calls had become a regular occurrence that he looked forward to for days leading up to them, and would think about for days following. A rather large part of him was still somewhat embarrassed, and he would be thoroughly humiliated to have to admit it to anyone but Dante, but Thursday evenings were the bright spot in his otherwise dreary days.

“Alright, Angel?” Dante asked gently after a few moments of silence. 

“Always,” Azra smiled, and reached for the tissues on the side table to clean himself up. “You’re wonderful, as always, my dear boy.”

“And as always, you flatter me.”

“You’re much too humble. I look forward to our calls all week, you know.”

A rare beat of hesitant silence lapsed, causing Azra’s heart to catch in his throat before Dante answered. “So do I.”

“Oh, I’m sure you say that to all your callers,” Azra murmured, pulling his pants and trousers back up as he smiled despite himself. “But that’s very sweet of you to say.”

“I really don’t. Really.” Another hesitation. “I wouldn’t say anything to you that I didn’t mean, Angel. I promised you that, didn’t I?”

Azra paused, unsure of how to take Dante’s response. This was Dante’s work after all. He was probably obligated to provide these types of reassurances, but the thought of Dante saying these types of things to all these other faceless men made his chest clench uncomfortably. It was hardly fair for him to expect anything different, however, and he found he had to remind himself rather sternly that this was purely a business transaction.

“I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable.” Dante’s voice seemed uncertain and he realized that he had been silent for quite some time.

“Oh, no! No, not at all!” Azra rushed to reassure him. “I was just thinking, that’s all. Nothing to do with you.” He winced, realizing how that must have sounded. “Or well, not _ nothing_,” he corrected himself. “Just that, well…” he scrubbed his face with the palm of his hand, wishing he hadn’t opened his mouth at all, as it seemed impossible for him to do so without sticking his foot right inside it.

He was saved by Dante’s warm chuckle however, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he was cut off from his blabbering. “It’s alright, I understand.”

“I’m just… surprised, I suppose.”

“About what?”

“That you would look forward to speaking to me, of all people,” Azra admitted, sinking back into the book shop’s sofa and looking down at his lap.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Dante seemed genuinely puzzled, despite Azra’s frequent attempts to explain just how unremarkable he was. “It’s hardly a chore, Angel. Talking to you, I mean.”

“Well no, but it is your job, isn’t it? I hardly think you would choose to speak to me if we had met under different circumstances.”

“But I _ do _ choose to speak to you,” Dante replied, sounding more serious than he ever had before. “That’s the nature of this beast. This job is my choice, and I do it because I like it. I’m hardly at the whim of whoever calls me. I _ choose _ my clients, and if I didn’t like you, or want to talk to you, I wouldn’t. Simple as that.”

“Oh.” Azra had never thought of it that way. It wasn’t, he supposed, that different from the way he ran his own business. There were some customers he liked more than others of course, but the truly vile people he forced out the door, sales be damned.

“Believe me, Angel, l truly enjoy our calls. And _ you_.” Dante stopped speaking for a moment. The silence between them stretched out, but as Azra opened his mouth to reply, Dante spoke again, hesitant this time. “Please stop me if I’m out of order here, but why is it that you never have anything positive to say about yourself?”

Azra’s mouth snapped shut and it took him a moment to collect himself enough to respond. “I’m not negative,” he said, a little bit teresely. “I’m realistic. I know who I am.”

“But… you must realize that other people don’t see you the way you seem to see yourself, right? I mean, presumably you’ve got… friends or, you know, people who like you. I know I like you.”

“You hardly know me,” Azra protested weakly. 

“I know enough,” Dante replied, his voice firm and decisive. “Look… I’m sorry if I went too far there, Angel. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me, my dear.” Azra replied, but truthfully, he was a bit upset. He could recognize though, that Dante meant well and was only trying to help. Besides, he could hardly burn this bridge. “Don’t worry yourself over me, I’m absolutely fine.”

“Alright, Angel,” Dante hummed, and Azra could hear in his voice that Dante wasn’t sure he believed him. Thankfully though, he didn’t continue to push, for now, at least. “Glad to hear it.”

“I suppose…” Azra started, and then hesitated. “I’m sorry for snapping at you, dear. I suppose you may have just hit rather close to home. To be truthful with you, I have been… struggling, recently in particular. Things were said in my recent breakup that forced me to face certain truths about myself that I’ve had a hard time reconciling.”

“I’d pieced a bit of that together,” Dante admitted. “You mentioned a breakup before. It wasn’t hard to make the connection that your ex was a complete prick.”

“You sound like a good friend of mine,” Azra laughed. “She said the same exact thing, actually.”

“Well good, she’s clearly right. You should listen to her.”

“And by extension, you?” Azra asked, smiling despite himself.

“Well, if you insist.” Azra could practically hear the cheeky grin on Dante’s face and, not for the first time, wished that he knew what it looked like.

“You think you’re so charming, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. Don’t you?”

“Charming, yes, and also modest.”

“I’m a man of many virtues.”

“Oh? I thought you were wicked and sinful.”

“Sin and virtue aren’t mutually exclusive, Angel. People would be dreadfully boring if they were.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Azra conceded. “You’ve got me there.”

They stopped in a companionable silence for a moment and Azra couldn’t help the smile that played on the corners of his lips.

“I am sorry, though,” Dante finally murmured into his ear, “to have put you on the spot there,” he explained. “It just struck me as a bit of a tragedy that you don’t know how great you are.”

Azra found himself at a loss for words at this, his heart feeling like it was tying itself in knots while it worked its way up his throat, blocking off any response he might have made. He wasn’t used to so much praise, not from anyone, and he wasn’t exactly sure how he was supposed to respond. Dante barely knew anything about him, had never even met him, so how did he manage such conviction when Gabriel, a person he’d loved wholeheartedly and lived with for years, hadn’t been able to?

Gabriel had known him better than Dante did, surely.

Another voice in the back of his head wanted to believe Dante, though, and that small part of him was starting to claw its way to the surface as he sat there, paralyzed with uncertainty.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Dante said as if sensing that uncertainty. “I’ll talk to you next week, yeah?”

“Oh!” Azra started, coming back to himself in full force and flushing deeply, thoroughly embarrassed even though there was no one to see him. “Yes, of course. I’ll be… looking forward to it.”

“Me too, Angel. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Dante.”

\--

“Your cock feels so good, baby,” Crowley moaned loudly as the man on the other end of the line grunted. “More, more, I need more!” He was nearly screaming into the headset. “Please, oh please, I’m so close!”

“You’ve got a hot little ass, don’t you, David?”

“The hottest,” Crowley affirmed, breathless and needy as he crossed a sprinkle ball with a striped candy on the mobile screen in front of him. Bloody Candy Crush. He’d been stuck on that level for ages. “And it’s all yours.” 

He was lounging on the sofa in his plushest robe, feet kicked over an armrest, with his mobile held in the air above him.

“You’ve got a hot little cock too, don’t you? Are you gonna come for me?”

Crowley wailed, loud and high, and just as he was about to speak again, a loud and repetitive banging cut him off.

“Everything okay, David?” The man’s gruff voice was stern and insistent. “I thought you were gonna come for me.”

“I am, baby, don’t you worry.” Whatever prick was at the door, and he had a sneaking suspicion he knew just which prick it was, could fuck right off. “You’re so good to me, how could I not?”

The caller redoubled his efforts, and Crowley pitched up the volume of his moans and cries, completely dissolving into wordless, animalistic noises until the man on the line finished himself off and hung up.

“Mr. Crowley!” a muffled, furious voice called through the door.

The pounding on the door had become even more insistent and Crowley tore his headset off and threw it on the sofa before stomping over to the door and ripping it open.

“What do you _ want _?” he snarled.

A very red, very angry face framed in smashed blonde curls greeted him on the other side of the door. Crowley very nearly found him lovely.

“Mr. Crowley, do you have any idea what time it is?” His voice was rough with sleep and just barely short of a shout. 

The shouting rather put a damper on the loveliness.

“You came and pounded on my door at three o’clock in the morning to ask me what time it is?”

Fell stared at him like he could hardly comprehend the audacity of Crowley’s question. “Ah, so you _ do _ know what time it is. I was afraid that perhaps the pitch of your screaming had shattered the faces on all of your clocks.”

“Who the fuck has an analogue clock anymore?”

“That’s not the point,” the man in his doorway snapped, brows furrowed with barely suppressed rage at this point.

“And what exactly is your point? This is my flat and my _ building_, sweetheart. What are you going to do about it?”

Fell seemed to deflate a bit at that, but persisted nevertheless. “All I’m asking is that you and your partner try to be at least a _ little _ considerate of the hour. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

Crowley blinked a moment at the word ‘_partner_,’ which caught him a bit by surprise, but he didn’t linger on it. “I… _ we’ve _ been doing this since I bought the building without a problem. I’m not going to alter my lifestyle for you. If you don’t like it you can go rent a flat somewhere else. I can promise you you’ll be paying significantly more than the nothing I’m currently charging you. You should be _ thanking _ me.”

He took great pleasure in the silence that greeted him after this particular tirade and offered a self-satisfied smirk, and raised brows in return. “Good_ night_, Mr. Fell. Get some sleep, hm? You’ll feel much better in the morning, I’m sure,” and shut the door in Fell’s wide eyed face before turning back to the living room. 

No sooner had he turned around than the knocking started again. He snarled silently before spinning around and swinging it open again with such a force that it bounced off the wall.

“Yes?” he asked, polite as ever, as if they hadn’t just had a veritable screaming match. 

“Mr. Crowley, I have _ tried _ to…” Fell trailed off, staring at something in the room behind Crowley, visible now that the door was open wider than it had been before. “What in heaven’s name is _ that? _”

Crowley turned his head and took in George’s lazy sprawl across the coffee table. “That’s George.”

“George,” Fell repeated flatly. “That’s your… your _ pet _?”

“More like a deadbeat roommate. Apparently I have a soft spot for freeloaders,” Crowley said pointedly, reveling in the way Fell’s mouth snapped shut and formed a small tight line on his otherwise round, red face.

“I didn’t _ ask _ not to be charged additional rent, Mr. Crowley,” Fell started. “So if that’s all you’ve got to hang over my head, by all means, give me a price.”

“Took him to the forest of Dean once,” Crowley continued, ignoring Fell completely. “Saw him eat an entire deer.” He paused to look Fell up and down. “How tall would you say you are?”

“I beg your pardon.”

“A little under six feet? What, five foot ten? About fifteen stone?”

“If you’re trying to _ threaten _ me—”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Crowley breezed. “Just trying to get to know my tenant better. Perhaps all this friction between us can be remedied with a bit of camaraderie and understanding.”

“I am _ just _ trying to get some sleep, Mr. Crowley,” Fell pleaded, deflating before Crowley’s eyes, and against his will he felt a heavy twinge of guilt in the pit of his stomach. He _ had _ been laying it on rather thick and it wasn’t as if the poor sod didn’t deserve some rest. “If you could _ please _ keep your… night time activities to a _ reasonable hour_, I would—”

On second thought, guilt was a worthless emotion anyway.

“You know, Mr. Fell, earplugs aren’t that expensive. I’m sure with all the money you’re saving on rent you could manage to cultivate quite a nice collection.”

“It’s absurd to expect me to sleep with earplugs in my own home!” Fell protested. “What you’re asking me to tolerate is completely unreasonable!”

“You’ll have to take it up with the landlord, I suppose,” Crowley said airily, and shut the door in Fell’s face once again. 

Crowley waited for a moment more, waiting to see if the man would knock again. No noise followed but slow footsteps down the stairs.

\--

Some weeks later, Azra was relieved at the arrival of Thursday at last. He had had to dodge Anathema’s insistence on setting him up with her old university friend several times since their first conversation and she was quickly growing tired of his excuses. The one thing that he had to push through for were these Thursday evening calls, and as it came time to close the shop for the evening, he could feel his mood improving exponentially.

He was smiling by the time he settled on the little sofa in the back of the shop a few hours later, and dialed the well-practiced number, the phone ringing out in his ear.

“Hello, Angel,” Dante purred as soon as the ringing died, doing away with the usual spiel.

Azra warmed at the new greeting, serving as a reminder that Dante had been waiting for _ him_. Had been expecting him.

“What would you have done if I’d been someone else, just now?” he teased.

“I’d have been terribly disappointed and may have even told them to shove off.”

“Oh, you would not,” Azra chided fondly.

“Well, luckily for me the only person in the world that I have any desire to speak with is right here on the line.”

“Oh, should I leave the two of you to it?” he asked, rolling his eyes with a smile at Dante’s overzealous flirtation.

“Angel,” Dante tsked. “Always so modest. Who else could I possibly mean?”

“Flatterer,” Azra accused.

“Only if it’s working.”

If the flush he could feel warming his cheeks was anything to go by, it certainly was.

“How was your week?”

“Same as always, I’m afraid. All work and no play… Though I guess some might say that my work _ is _ all play.”

“I would never say that. I couldn’t do what you do, not for all the money in the world. It takes real skill.”

“I don’t know about that, Angel. I have no complaints about any of your skills.”

Azra laughed. “My dear, it’s taken me this long to get used to doing this with just you. I’d be lost with anyone else.”

“Call me selfish, but I like having you all to myself, Angel.”

Warmth bloomed in Azra’s chest and he fought valiantly to push it down, reminding himself firmly that it was Dante’s job to make him feel special. If he began reading too much into things he would only end up hurting himself.

“I rather like that, too.” That, at least, was safe. 

“Good,” Dante murmured, his voice taking on that deep, warm tone that never failed to make Azra’s toes curl with anticipation. “If I could just touch you it would be perfect.”

“Oh, definitely not,” Azra said before he could think twice about it. “But that’s a very sweet sentiment, Dante.”

“Why do you do that?” Dante asked, not unkindly. “I don’t want to push you, and I know it seems to be a sensitive topic, but it’s… I don’t…” For what was probably the first time in Azra’s experience with him, Dante struggled to find his words. “You shouldn’t think poorly of yourself.”

Azra fell silent, mouth falling open, slack and unsure of how to respond. After their… squabble last time Dante had broached the topic, he had seemingly been careful to avoid it, but here it was again. He found he didn’t know how to respond now any more than he did several weeks ago.

“I…” he started and then promptly closed his mouth, his tongue feeling too thick and dry for his mouth.

“Angel,” Dante said softly, barely a whisper into his ear. “Do you trust me?”

Azra paused for a moment before answering. He knew the answer, but the certainty with which he did was what surprised him. He and Dante had been speaking for months now, so perhaps it shouldn’t be such a shock, but…

“Yes,” he said finally.

“Thank you,” Dante murmured. “You can stop this at any time if it makes you uncomfortable. I’d just like to try something. Do you still have your shirt on? Your trousers?”

“Yes,” he repeated. “Same as always. Should I…?”

“OnIy if you want to, but I’d like it very much. Start with your shirt, if that’s alright?”

Azra smiled, his chest filled with warmth at Dante’s patience and gentleness. It was so different from anything he had experienced before, and yet somehow more intimate than any physical encounter he had ever had.

“Of course. I trust you, remember?” He began to tug gently at his bowtie, pulling it off his neck and laying it over the back of the couch before unclipping his suspenders.

“Just checking, Angel. I want you to be comfortable.”

“I am,” he replied and found, despite not knowing where Dante was going with this, that it was true. He continued on unbuttoning his dress shirt and slipped it off his shoulders in a few awkward motions. “Alright,” he told Dante as at last, he pulled his undershirt over his head.

“Good,” Dante murmured, and Azra blushed at the appreciative tone. “Here’s where the trust comes in, Angel, are you ready?”

Azra huffed a laugh at this. This seemed rather tame all things considered, when they had had months of much more adventurous conversation. “Yes, dear, as I’ve said. I trust you implicitly.”

“If you’re sure,” Dante teased and Azra could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “What I want you to do is to look down at yourself, alright?”

Azra froze, his breath halting, but Dante seemed to have anticipated this.

“It’s okay, Angel. Just breathe. You’re doing so well already.”

“I’ve hardly done anything,” Azra laughed, anxiously looking anywhere but down at his bare torso. He could feel the weight of his stomach hanging over the waistband of his trousers and all he could think of was the idea of Dante appearing before him, seeing his body the way it was, and leaving.

“You’ve done plenty,” Dante said softly. “Do you want me to stop?”

_ Yes. _

“No,” Azra replied, forcing himself to take a deep breath. He trusted Dante, and he was determined to see whatever this was through to the end.

“Touch yourself for me? Not your cock, not yet, just along your body. Imagine they’re my hands on you instead.”

Azra wondered if it was too late to start panicking.

“I… I don’t know if…” 

“You don’t have to,” Dante reassured. “Not if you really don’t want to. But maybe it would be easier if you closed your eyes just for now?”

He hesitated a moment. “Alright,” he agreed, letting his eyes fall closed and laying a tentative hand on his stomach, the other clenched tightly around the phone like a lifeline. 

“You’re so warm,” Dante purred. “Just like I thought you’d be. Your skin is exquisite. Would you slide your hand up your chest? Imagine it’s my fingers trailing over you, mapping the layout of your body with my fingertips. Can you tell me what you feel?”

Azra had never felt so tongue tied in his life as he did in this moment. Even if he could bring himself to speak, what would he say?

Dante rushed to reassure him. “If you can’t, that’s alright. Just focus on the sensation instead.”

He forced himself to take another deep, steadying breath and trailed his shaking fingertips over the rounded curve of his belly. He winced for a moment as he really did imagine it was Dante’s fingers that were dragging over his skin where the bulk of his chest folded over the base of his sternum. His breath was shaking, but Dante’s soft murmured words of encouragement grounded him.

“Now imagine my lips where your fingers are, pressing softly into your skin.” 

Azra winced again, nearly overcome with the profanity of it. He knew it was ridiculous, given their history, but the idea of Dante feeling his body so intimately made him cringe. 

“You’re lovely, Angel,” Dante said, low and serious, when Azra didn’t respond. “I don’t care what anyone’s told you.”

“You can’t know that!” Azra nearly cried out, beginning to feel overcome with the weight of it all as tears began to prick at the corners of his eyes. “It’s easy to say so when you haven’t _ seen _ me.”

“Angel,” Dante cut him off, firm but as kind as always. “Have you really even seen yourself? And not how you imagine others see you?”

Azra snorted at this, privately thinking how ridiculous it sounded. His appearance wasn’t exactly subjective.  
  
“I’m serious, Angel. And we can stop. You can always stop me if you need to, but if you’re still with me, can you do something else for me?”

Azra took a moment to steady himself and to contemplate whether or not he was actually still with Dante. He’d been pushed beyond the point of comfort, and at this point wanted nothing more than to bury himself under several heavy layers of clothing and forget this ever happened. But Dante was being so gentle, so kind, and Azra knew that he was only trying to help.

More than that, he knew that he would likely do almost anything Dante asked of him, and that was something that scared him in an entirely different way.

“Alright,” he whispered. 

“Good,” Dante replied, and Azra imagined he was smiling. “I want you to put me on speaker, and open your camera app so you can see yourself, okay?”

“Oh!” Azra opened his eyes, startled for a moment and staring up at the ceiling. “My phone doesn’t have a camera, dear, it’s a landline.”

Dante fell silent.

“What?” he finally asked after a moment.

“I’ve been calling you from a landline. I don’t have a cellphone,” he chuckled nervously at this, unsure of what to do with Dante’s sudden loss for words.

“You mean to tell me,” Dante began, at last seeming to have gathered his thoughts. “That this whole time we’ve been having _ phone sex _ you’ve been twirling your fingers around a cord in bed like this is Bye Bye fucking Birdie?”

“Heavens no, dear,” Azra laughed. “I _ do _ have a cordless, I’m not that far behind the times. Besides, it’s not as if you need anything more than a phone to well… Do what we’re doing.”

“You can call it _ phone sex_, Angel.”

Azra frowned. “Yes, that. It just… feels a bit vulgar to say it so plainly.”

“Angel,” Dante’s voice was somewhere between amused and exasperated. “I’ve explained to you in _ exquisite _ detail just how I want to wrap my tongue around your cock but saying _ phone sex _ is too vulgar?”

He flushed fire engine red. Of course when put that way it did sound a bit ridiculous, but even so.

\--

“You’re something else, Angel,” Crowley said fondly, a smile playing at his lips. “So prim and proper. I love making you blush. I can practically hear it. I bet you’re gorgeous when you’re all flushed and embarrassed.”

Crowley hoped this only proved to make Angel blush harder, but instead was just pleased to find that he didn’t immediately rebuff him.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said instead, but it was said with a laugh and not the tense anxiety with which Angel usually responded to his comments.

“I do what I can,” Crowley teased. “More importantly though, I think I need to hear you say it before we can continue.” A grin was twisting at the corners of his mouth as he imagined Angel flustered and stumbling over the words.

“You can’t be serious!”

“Dead serious, Angel. Pony up the vulgarities.” He leaned back and crossed his ankles on the sofa in front of him, enjoying this far more than he had any right to.

“You’re absolutely wicked, my dear. 

“Wicked or not, you should be able to say it if you’re going to do it,” Crowley smiled into the phone. He didn’t think he had any other clients he could truly tease this way.

“Oh, you _ wily _ … fine, _ phone sex_, are you happy?”

“Oh, Angel, you have no idea.” Crowley smirked, pleased to have gotten his way. “Speaking of which,” he continued, pitching his voice down into his trademark purr. He’d put Angel through enough for the evening, it was time to turn his attention to more pleasing pastures. “Thinking about my tongue wrapped around your cock seems to have gotten me a bit hot and bothered.”

Crowley almost never initiated the actual scenes with his clients, and if he stopped to think about it, it might have made him second guess himself. He pushed it to the back of his mind and resolved not to let himself get distracted.

“Oh!” Angel cried, as if he’d forgotten what the point of their phone conversation actually was. 

“We don’t have to do anything else,” Crowley clarified, reeling himself in a little. “Only if you want to.”

“No, no, I do want to. I can assure you of that,” he laughed, and Crowley shook off the way his chest clenched at the sound. “Just a rather lovely image, is all.”

“My tongue on your cock, or me all hot and bothered? The former can definitely be arranged.”

“And not the latter? I had hoped for both, truthfully.”

“Only because I’m already there, sweetheart. Everything about you gets me going.”

The flustered silence on the other end of the line when he said things like this no longer worried him, and instead he reveled in the knowledge that he was able to make Angel tongue tied like this.

“Oh…” Angel repeated, but this time it came out just on this side of ragged.

“You sound so surprised. You’d think after all this time, you’d know how easy it seems to be for you to get me wanting you, Angel.”

If Crowley was still subtly pushing his agenda regarding Angel’s self-confidence, well, who could blame him?

“What are you wearing tonight?” 

“Nothing fancy I’m afraid. In fact, I’m just in my pajamas and an impossibly fluffy robe. I knew you’d be calling and I wanted to make sure I was as comfortable as possible so I wouldn’t be distracted during our chat.”

“That sounds simply _ divine_, my dear boy.”

“As divine as it is, I think I’d be _ much _ more comfortable in nothing at all.”

“Well I should think that would be easy to accomplish.” Angel hummed, clearly regaining his confidence as they eased back onto more familiar ground. “I’d love to just give the tie at your waist a _ tug _ and watch that robe fall open for me.”

“Luckily I don’t tie it tight, I’d hate to do anything that hinders you getting things off of me. It’s a chilly night though, if you’re taking it off of me I hope you’ve got plans to warm me up.”

“Oh, I might have,” Angel said, and Crowley could hear the smile in his voice. “But first, let’s get the rest of those clothes off of you.”

Angel took his sweet time talking Crowley through peeling off the rest of his clothing and by the time he was finished, Crowley again had to remind himself to stay focused. It was startlingly easy to lose himself in the warmth of Angel’s voice. It was almost terrifying.

“Anything you want, Angel.”

“Just you,” Angel said softly, and for a moment Crowley forgot how to breathe. There was something in Angel’s voice that was tugging at something inside of him, and he didn’t know what to do with it. “Lay back for me?”

Crowley didn’t realize he’d actually moved until the back of his head made contact with the arm of the sofa, and again he had to remind himself to _ focus. _

“I love seeing you above me,” Crowley said breathlessly. It wasn’t nearly as hard as it should have been to pretend that he actually was.

“Well you’re simply a vision yourself, dear.” Angel replied, voice impossibly soft and Crowley took a deep breath to steady himself. 

“You’ll make me blush if you keep that up.” Crowley forced his tone to stay even and tightened his fingers in the front of his robe, trying to get ahold of himself.

“Then I’ll be sure that I do,” Azra teased. “You’re always so good at flustering me, it’s about time you get your comeuppance.”

“Who knew an angel could be so cruel?”

“You don’t mean that.” His tone was indulgent and it amazed Crowley how he could go from shaking with nerves to smooth and self assured as soon as the focus shifted from himself to Crowley.

“I don’t,” Crowley admitted, tightening his fingers in his robe even as his tone softened. “You’re lots of things, but never cruel.” 

“Spread your legs for me?” Angel breezed past the admission, and Crowley was grateful for the reprieve. He seemed to need steadier ground himself, and was relieved that they were back on familiar land.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, casual flirtation coming easily to him as always. “Besides, you fit so nicely between them.”

“It’s a wonderful place to be.”

“How do you want me tonight?”

“You expect me to _ choose _ just like that? With so many options, each more delicious than the last? Speaking of... ” Angel mused, and it seemed like he was drawing this out simply for Crowley’s benefit. “I think I’d like to _ taste _ you darling.”

Crowley groaned, tipping his head back against the arm of the sofa in a mix of frustration and desperation. Angel’s voice really had no business being so much like velvet, and Crowley had no business letting himself play so much into this. It was work, that was all, and work never, _ ever _ crossed that line.

He certainly wasn’t going to allow it to now just because Angel was… the way he was.

“God yes, Angel. Take me apart with that mouth of yours.”

“I’d rather take my time with you. The weight of you in my hand is so tempting though…”

Crowley could almost picture him, Angel fisting his own cock in his soft, manicured hand and imagining it was Crowley’s. He probably had his eyes squeezed shut tightly, and Crowley only wished he knew what Angel looked like so that he could have a better mental image himself.

Against his will, his legs fell open, his own cock beginning to harden at the very idea. He groaned with frustration, but blessedly, Angel seemed to have taken it for a sound of anticipation.

“But then again, we’ve both waited long enough, haven’t we darling?”

Something about the way that word tripped off of Angel’s tongue made Crowley groan again, and his hips canted forward into nothing involuntarily. 

“I’m tired of waiting, Angel, _ please, _” he moaned, grabbing desperately at the sofa in a futile attempt to keep himself grounded. 

“No need to beg, dear. Not right now, at least,” he chuckled. “I’m here. Good lord, the scent of you is intoxicating.”

“I taste even better than I smell.”

“Smell is eighty percent of taste, Dante,” Angel recited, and the fact that he was able to lecture Crowley right now made him feel like he might be losing his touch.

“You’ve got to be f-fucking kidding me.” 

“I would never kid about biology, my dear, especially not when I’m faced with such a lovely specimen.”

Crowley barked out a desperate laugh. “I thought you said I didn’t have to beg, Angel.” He was practically white knuckling the sofa beneath him.

“Quite right, I’m sorry. I simply couldn’t resist teasing you, dear.”

“S’pose I’ve, I’ve earned it after all the teasing I’ve given you.” 

“This isn’t retribution. I just want to savor you. You’re quite lovely like this, all spread out for me. But I think it’s time to indulge, hm?”

“High time, Angel. I need you.” Crowley was beginning to shiver in earnest, nevermind his layers of clothing. He pulled his robe in a bit tighter around his waist, even as he knew it wasn’t the cold that was his problem, still ignoring his budding erection.

“Then you’ll have me,” Angel replied, beginning to sound somewhat desperate himself, and Crowley groaned as he thought of Angel getting off to the idea of giving him pleasure. “You taste divine, dear,” he gasped, voice shuddering.

The image of Angel lapping at his cock bloomed behind his eyes and Crowley made a needy sound high in the back of his throat, hips rocking forward again to meet empty air. It wasn’t difficult to imagine a halo of blond hair between his legs, but he wished he had more to add to the picture.

“You, you’re d-divine,” he managed, trying yet again and failing to reel himself in. “That mouth of yours, Angel. You’re going to kill me.”

“Never kill you, dearest. I just want to be sure you’re enjoying yourself. I could spend an entire evening just tasting you, enjoying the weight of you on my tongue and the softness of your thighs against my fingertips.”

Crowley finally released his death grip on the sofa in favor of pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes hard enough to see spots igniting behind them. It was getting to be too much. He had to turn the focus back on Angel or else he’d lose the plot completely.

“Let me touch you, Angel,” he asked, doing his best to sound less desperate than he felt. “Let me kiss you.” He knew Angel wouldn’t refuse him that.

“_Oh _… Dante, of course,” Angel breathed, the words coming out as a happy sigh, and damn it if his heart wasn’t swelling at the sound of it. 

What the fuck was _ wrong _ with him? 

“Your lips are perfect,” Crowley hissed as he reached down to pinch at his thigh _ hard _ in an attempt to regain some semblance of calm control. “Some day I’ll spend all night just exploring your mouth with mine.”

Angel whimpered into his ear at this and good _ lord_, it was a beautiful sound.

“The feel of your body against mine as I lick into your mouth and feel your tongue along mine, Angel,” he continued, pushing Angel’s buttons where he knew it would work. “I can’t even describe it.”

“_Dante_, I’m… God, I’m so close.” 

“Close already and I’ve barely even touched you.”

“Well, _ oh_…” He paused to hiss a moment and Crowley steeled himself to the image of Angel thrusting into his hand. “I hardly needed much what with those noises you were making, dear.”

Even the idea that Angel might have had the smallest inkling that Crowley hadn’t been acting was enough to turn him red with uncomfortable shame. This sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen. He was a _ professional_, god damn it. Getting hard over a client. He supposed that there were others who _ did_, but he had never been one to be this affected by a stranger.

He didn’t really suppose Angel was much of a stranger anymore, though. Something about Angel had been different from his other regulars since the beginning.

“Noises _ you _ made me make,” he said. “What do you need to fall over that edge? More kisses? I could trail a line of them down your throat. Taste your warm skin as I tease my teeth over that delicious dip where you neck joins your shoulder.” Angel’s breath was coming in short, shallow gasps now. “Or I could slide my hands down your body and lock them with yours while you thrust into them. Can you picture it? That gorgeous cock of yours sliding in both of our grasps?

Crowley certainly wasn’t having any trouble picturing it. He squeezed his legs together, still making a futile effort to will his arousal away. 

Angel, for his part, was falling apart. Crowley could hear each desperate gasp, loud in his ear and he clenched his eyes shut, shuddering himself, as he continued whispering suggestions into Angel’s ear through the phone. Finally, Angel cried out his name and moaned through his release.

Crowley bit down hard enough on his lip to draw blood to drown out the answering groan that bubbled up in his throat. Angel’s cry shot straight to his cock and all of the hot, desperate need Crowley had worked so hard to suppress burst back to life all at once.

Neither of them said a word for a long moment, each of them breathing heavily, Angel presumably to catch his breath and Crowley losing more and more of his with every passing second.

“Oh,” Angel began once he’d regained a bit of his senses. “That was...”

“Incredible?” Crowley supplied, hoping Angel couldn’t hear just how tight his throat had become. 

“Something like that. But my dear, are you quite alright? You sound—”

“Perfectly fine, Angel.” Crowley cursed silently. Of _ course _ Angel would notice now that the haze of lust had cleared. “Not sure why you’d even ask, I’m just, just _ dandy_. Nothing to worry about at all.”

He sounded insane. He knew he did, but he couldn’t stop. He was starting to spiral.

“Did I do something wrong?” Crowley could hear the frown in his voice and the niggling stream of self-consciousness that was working its way back in. Damn it all, that was the last thing he wanted. “I’m sorry if I—”

“Angel, no, God no, you were perfect. You’re _ always _ so perfect.” He was getting to be a bit too earnest here, but he didn’t know what else to do. “I told you, everything’s fine.”

Please, _ please_, let Angel believe him.

After a long pause he finally got his response. “Alright… If you’re… if you’re absolutely certain.”

“I’m certain. Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll, I’ll talk to you next week, yeah?” 

“I… yes, alright. Goodnight, Dante.”

“Goodnight, Angel.”

The line went dead in his ear and Crowley all but ripped the headset off. Within minutes he had torn off his robe and thrust himself under the hot spray of his showerhead. His hard, aching cock was gripped tightly in his hand as he threw his head back under the water.

Everything about Angel flooded back to him as he tugged desperately at himself. The tone of his voice, the noises he made, the flashes of images he’d had of Angel’s hand on his own cock, his _ mouth _ on Crowley’s. The mental image of that damn head of blond hair between his legs. All of it assaulted him and ratcheted his own arousal up higher and higher until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He came with a shout, throwing his head back and bracing himself against the shower wall.

_ Fuck_.

He needed to talk to someone. Anyone other than Angel.

He trembled as he shut off the water and grabbed for a towel, not even bothering to dry himself off before wrapping it around his waist and marching himself back out to his living room, where his phone lay abandoned on the coffee table. He collapsed back onto the sofa, his wet legs sticking uncomfortably to the leather. His hand shook as he reached for his phone and it nearly slipped from his wet fingers as he tried to dial it. 

“Yes?” Anathema’s voice cut through the ringing in his ear, and he’d never been happier to hear her.”

“I’m _ fucked_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we hope you enjoyed - we'd love to hear your feedback! feel free to leave a comment and/or come say hi on tumblr!!
> 
> [@enbyziraphale](https://enbyziraphale.tumblr.com) and [@artist-formerly-known-as-crawley](https://artist-formerly-known-as-crawley.tumblr.com).
> 
> Given how updates have been lately because of our irl stuff, I don't know if we can promise see you next Wednesday on the dot, but we're doing our best <3


	8. Something More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anathema attempts an intervention with her boys. One is more receptive than the other, but neither of them really wants to listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for all of your patience, as well as your feedback and support! The holiday season has been completely wild, so getting this posted kind of fell to the wayside! We hope you like it and that you enjoy this little Anathema POV interlude! Also, sweet demi Crowley <3

Anathema looked over to give Newt an apologetic grimace as he sighed, and fell back against the pillows on his own side of the bed.

“Again?” she asked, leaning against Newt’s shoulder and looking up at him with a playful eye roll. She grinned as he huffed out a soft laugh of his own, leaning over and pressing a kiss to her hair.

“Anathema, this is serious.” She rolled her eyes. Everything was always _ serious _ when it came to Tony. George probably stole his blankets or, more likely, one of his plants had a spot.

“What did the tradescantia do this time?”

“This isn’t bloody plant related!” Tony snapped, and her eyes widened. “It’s, this is… this is something else!”

The frantic distress in his voice gave Anathema pause, and she shifted from teasing to genuine concern. “Are you alright? Did something happen?”

“Mhhk. Yes. Well, _no_, but also yes. I don’t know. Something always happens, or else nothing’d ever happen. That’s a terrible way to phrase your question. Something could mean _ anything _. How am I supposed to know how to answer that?” 

“Tony, you aren’t making any sense,” Anathema said gently. “Take a second and try to calm down, okay?”

Tony drew in a few ragged breaths, holding them and releasing them in equal time. Newt looked down at her with concern, but she waved it off. Tony was an anxious mess at the best of times but he seemed about ten seconds away from flying through the roof. If he didn’t get a handle on it, he’d never manage to get a word out. 

“That’s good, you’re doing great. Do you think you can tell me what happened? Was it a client?”

“Y-es,” Tony managed haltingly. He pulled in another solid breath, loud and heavy in her ear and she waited. “I got, I mean, he _ made _ me… not like _ made me _ made me, I mean just that _ he… _ ” He growled in frustration and her brow furrowed in concern. Was she going to have to kill this guy? “I got _ into _ it.”

“You got into it?”

“_ I got hard,_” Tony ground out.

“Oh.” Anathema paused for a moment, contemplating. Surely it couldn’t be that straightforward, something else had to be at play there. “Isn’t that… I mean, I’d expect that happens sometimes? You’re spending hours on end spinning lurid fantasies, reacting to them is perfectly normal.”

“It’s not,” Tony insisted. “Not for me. I’ve _ never _.”

“Never?”

“Never.” Tony repeated. “They’re strangers! Even the regulars, I don’t _ really _ know them.”

“Well, I mean,” Anathema began, raising an eyebrow with confusion. He was being a little dramatic, even for him. “Even if you don’t know them, you’ve got to have talked about stuff that gets you going! You’ve been doing this for years.”

Tony didn’t reply right away. “It doesn’t really work like that. I mean, it probably does for others? But not for me. There’s got to… be something more.”

Anathema didn’t speak for a moment, taking in what he’d said. It had been a long time since Tony had told her something about him that she didn’t already know. “So this client you were talking to…” She said slowly, choosing her words carefully. “There’s something more there?”

Tony drew in a long sigh and said, “I s’pose there’s got to be, hasn’t there?” He groaned, and Anathema could almost imagine him sinking into one of those trademark slouches that brought him so close to the edge of his seat that she wasn’t sure how he didn’t fall. “He’s… I don’t know. He’s sweet.” The last word was spat out of his mouth as he practically choked on it.

“Sweet?” Anathema practically snorted. She couldn’t ever remember him actually using that word outside of the context of his almost snobbish coffee preferences. “Getting soft in your old age, huh?”

“I am _ not _ soft, you wretched hag,” he snapped back, but it lacked a significant amount of the bite their squabbles usually contained.

“I’ll have you know I take that as a compliment,” she quipped. “But really. I mean, have you even _ seen _ this guy? And how do you know that he’s actually sweet, and not just putting it on?”

“If you spoke to him, you’d know he wasn’t.” Tony groaned miserably. “And no, I’ve never seen him and for the life of me, I can’t get him to tell me anything about what he looks like.”

“He could be seventy-five, Tony,” she replied, preemptively holding a hand up to assuage any of Newt’s concern.

“He’s not. He sounds, y’know, like he’s our age. I’d be able to tell if he were tripping over gravestones while he talks to me.”

“You would not. How could you possibly?”

“I just would, alright! I’ve been doing this for a long time. I think I know how to parse people out. Are you going to help me or not?”

“I still don’t even know what you’re asking me for.”

“What am I supposed to _ do _?”

“Well I can’t really answer that for you, Tony. But, what do _ want _ from him? If you’re worried about professionalism, I wouldn’t be. I’m sure that your callers are expecting that you _ are _ getting off on the calls too, so it’s not like you need to apologize for that.”

“He doesn’t expect anything. That’s the _ problem _.” He moaned, and then, when she didn’t reply, “He’s always so focused on what _ I _ like, and what _ I _ want, it’s ridiculous. He’s paying me, for God’s sake, what kind of person does that and then… nngk! He noticed something was off this time, and he’s, he’s gonna call back next week and I don’t know if I can...” He groaned, muttering something incoherent. “What am I going to _ do?” _

“You could wear a cock ring,” she suggested, and Newt choked beside her.

“God, _ why _ did I think calling you would help me?” Tony complained. “I’ll just pop on down to the nearest adult store, shall I? Get all ready for him to ring up and then, oh, pardon me, Angel, I need to just slip on a cock ring before we get started because I can’t seem to keep a handle on myself when I’m talking to you!”

“_ Angel _?” Anathema repeated incredulously. “What does he call you? Pumpkin? And you don’t tell him anything, you just go about business as usual!”

“Nothing about this is bloody usual! That’s why I’m so…” Tony stumbled over his words again, unable to drag one out that made any sense. Anathema suspected he might actually be speaking German.

“Alright, alright.” she stopped him, finally taking pity on him. “Take another breath, and think for a minute.”

“All I’ve been doing is thinking.” Despite his griping, Tony took a breath anyway.

“No, you’ve been panicking,” she corrected. “How long have you been talking to this guy?”

Tony fell silent as he contemplated. “A few months,” he answered finally. “He calls on Thursdays.”

“And what’s he like?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Tony said. He probably had a few actual adjectives in mind but was suppressing them for the sake of saving face, a wild concept considering that one time in university that she’d helped him wash vomit out of his hair while he sobbed drunkenly about whales. “He’s… prim, I guess. Well spoken. Kind of shy but once you get him out of his shell it’s unbelievable. And he’s just… I dunno. Kind.”

“God.” The depth of emotion in Tony’s voice nudged her into a smile. “You’re _ soft _.”

“Fuck off.”

“It’s not a bad thing, Tony!” Anathema admonished. “God forbid the ridiculous Anthony Crowley have an emotion, right?” She looked up at Newt with an amused smile. He returned it with a small smile of his own, wrapping an arm around her. “He sounds nice. And you sound smitten… Are you sure you’re okay to continue, well. Not-Seeing him like this? I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you getting off on your calls, but it sounds like you genuinely like him and… this could get kind of messy. Do you think he feels the same way?”

“Hmmmk.” Incoherent noises were always an excellent start. Anathema braced herself for a very firm refusal. “No. No, absolutely not. He doesn’t, and he can’t. Besides, even if he did… With my job, he’d never…” Tony trailed off, presumably to collect his thoughts. “I have to be okay with this. I don’t think I could bear it if he stopped calling.”

“I mean, he’s calling you. It would be pretty hypocritical of him to have a problem with your job.”

Tony barked out a laugh. “You can’t be serious. Anathema, almost all of my clients are hypocrites. People are more than able to see the need for what I do, but they always think they’re different and special and will be the one to ‘take me away from all this,’ as if what I’m doing is something I should be trying to claw my way out of.”

“I don’t think you’d be feeling the way you do about him if you really thought that he’d be like that. I think you’re deflecting.” She was rather sure of it, actually. That was Tony to a T. 

“Deflecting from what? I’ve answered all your questions.”

“From the whole situation!” she exclaimed, sighing with frustration and letting her head fall back against Newt’s arm. “You’re trying to come up with all these reasons for why it wouldn’t work so that you won’t have to do anything about it.”

“_ Do _ anything about it? What on earth could I _ possibly _ do about it? There’s nothing _ to _ do! It just… is.”

“You could always ask him to meet.”

“Ask him to… nghk. I don’t. Hmg. No. Absolutely… _ No. _”

“Why not?”

“Why _ not? _ ” There was some kind of commotion on Tony’s end. Either he’d actually managed to slide off his sofa or he was having some kind of conniption over a very reasonable and logical suggestion. So probably the latter. “Are you… you don’t even know what you’re saying. I can’t just, just _ meet _ a client. I can’t just _ meet _Angel like—”

“Like what? Like two people who enjoy talking to each other _ and _ getting off on the phone together and might presumably want to take that into the real world?”

“Exactly!” She could hear him pacing across his much-abused floorboards. “This isn’t _ regular _. He’s my _ client _, not some, some hot piece I met out in a pub or—”

“Did you seriously just say ‘_ hot piece _?’” Anathema cut him off again, practically snorting with laughter. “Besides, you never take home people you meet at the pub—which actually makes sense after what you told me earlier.”

“Not the point!” Tony shrieked. “Not the bloody point! The point _ is _, this isn’t some lurid penny romance novel! I’m not some squalid street urchin chimney sweep waiting for the right gentleman to dash me off to fucking Pemberley! I can’t just _ meet _ him!”

“I think you’re mixing Austen and Dickens, first of all. No one at Pemberley _ ever _ fucked a chimney sweep, I can promise you that right now.” Newt shot her another puzzled expression, and she reached over to ruffle his hair. 

“Well, thank God, I thought you were going to end up being completely useless,” Tony grumbled. “I can’t meet him,” he said again, more firmly this time. “Out of the question.”

“So, you’re just going to pine.”

Newt grabbed Anathema’s hand from his head and flipped it, pressing a line of kisses across her wrist. She looked up at him with a smile, extracting her hand from his, with an apologetic smile. He was always such a good sport, god she loved him so much. He was definitely still getting laid tonight if Tony could ever get his shit together.

“Yes.”

“So basically, you only called me so you could remind me that you’re an idiot?”

“Apparently, I called you to remind myself that you’re a shit friend.”

“I’m a great friend. You’re a shit listener. Why don’t you at least _ think _ about it?”

“_ No._” He was devolving into childish petulance now, so at least he’d tire himself out soon. “All meeting him would do is ruin the one good thing I have going for me.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You know what I mean.” Tony swore and she could hear him rustling with the covers. “Bloody menace, where’m I supposed to lay, huh?” he muttered under his breath. “Sorry, that last bit was at George, not you.”

“Maybe if you met this ‘Angel,’ you wouldn’t have to share your bed with a snake.”

“Oh, like George would let another human in this bed even if I _ had _a boyfriend. He barely lets me sleep in it.”

“Jesus Christ. I’m gonna get a call one day from some frantic cop telling me that thing ate you in your sleep.”

Newt shuddered beside her and she smirked, placing her hand on his leg and patting it reassuringly.

“He would never. He’d get too cold.”

“That’s reassuring. Does that mean I’m still your emergency contact?”

“Well unless George figures out how to work an iPhone, you’re kind of my only option.”

“You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”

“I don’t, actually. That’s why I gave up and turned gay.”

“Yeah, because that’s how that works.”

“I think I’d know more about it than you,” he sniffed.

“I think you need to go to bed.” So she and Newt could finish what they’d started.

“Tell that to George, he’s hogging the blanket,” Tony complained. She could hear him trying to drag the blanket out from under what was no doubt a very unphased reptile.

“Tony, oh my _ god._” She buried her face in her hands. “Please, I’m begging you. Ask that guy to meet you. I don’t think I could handle seeing you grow old with only your snake. And you’re already ancient.”

“Pot and kettle,” he shot back. “At least I don’t hoard coupons for multigrain cereals.”

“Young people need fiber too,” she shook her head and shoved Newt as he laughed.

“Wisdom that only an elder could impart.”

“Go to bed,” Anathema said firmly. “And at least _ think _ about what I said.”

Tony huffed quietly. “Fine.” 

“Text me tomorrow and let me know whether or not your pet dinosaur decided to bite your head off.”

“Uh huh. G’night.

The phone went quiet in her ear and she tossed it vaguely towards the nightstand. 

“What if it does bite his head off?” Newt asked. “You’ll feel bad for suggesting it.”

“Will not. He knows the risks,” she said and the two of them collapsed into giggles. “Besides,” she continued once they had caught their breath. “Do you want to keep talking about Tony and George, or do you want to get back to what we were doing before he interrupted us?”

Newt grinned and moved to climb back over her. “We can keep talking about snakes as long as it’s—”

“If you finish that sentence, I’m going to sleep.”

“Right. Yeah. That makes sense.”

\--

Anathema had been in the bookshop for little more than twenty minutes, and Azra had already wrung his hands and twisted the ring on his pinky at least five times. She hadn’t known him especially long, but the man hid his nerves with the same efficacy of an ostrich hiding by burying its head in the dirt.

What did she do in her past lives to deserve two of the biggest idiots in the world as her best friends?

“Alright. Spill. What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Why would you think anything’s wrong?” Azra’s false brightness was not in the least convincing. “Everything’s just tickety-boo, my dear.”

“Tickety… never mind,” she shook her head. She wasn’t touching that. “You’ve been pacing since I walked in and you haven’t made a single suggestion about what we should get for lunch.”

“Oh! Of course. Lunch!”

“Wow.” Azra forgetting lunch was actually mildly concerning, it was so out of character. “Seriously, did you see Gabriel, or something?”

“No! Nothing like that!”

“So there _ is _ something, then,” she accused. “You basically just admitted it.” She narrowed her eyes, her arms folded against her chest as she stared him down.

He fidgeted anxiously, biting his lip and wringing his hands before finally crumbling before her.

“You’re right,” he sighed, eyes darting about frantically before setting them on his interlocked fingers with a sigh. “I… ran into him the other day.”

“Were you in a car, by chance?”

“_ Anathema._”

“What happened? Did he say something?” she asked, arms folded and ready to drag Newt out of work so she could use his car to run Gabriel over herself.

“Well. I didn’t so much as… run into him as… I saw him from across the street?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Azra really was a terrible liar, but she’d get the truth out of him one way or another. “You talked to him, didn’t you?”

“Er, yes… that is… That is exactly what happened.”

“Oh my god,” Anathema said, horror dawning as Azra stumbled through another clumsy lie. “You slept with him, didn’t you?”

“No!” Azra exclaimed, looking at her with wide shocked eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Then why are you lying?”

Azra was spared further explanation by the bell over the shop door ringing, heralding the arrival of a customer. He gave her an apologetic smile and rushed off to offer his assistance far more quickly than was usual.

Well, that was alright. She cocked a hip and leaned against the front counter and made herself comfortable. She had nothing but time, and she was going to get the story one way or another.

Azra took his time, going above and beyond his typical level of customer service, no doubt to draw out the interaction as long as possible. What he didn’t realize was that the longer he took, the more time Anathema had to craft a series of increasingly outlandish scenarios that Azra might have found himself in with Gabriel.

She managed to settle on showing up drunk at his front door and badly attempting to seduce him, including a particularly embarrassing attempt at taking his shirt off without the coordination necessary to undo the buttons, by the time the customer finally rung up their purchases and left. 

“Finally,” she sighed, following the customer to the door and practically slamming it behind them. “We’re leaving, and you’re telling me everything,” she demanded, flipping the closed sign, cutting off any chance Azra had to argue. “We’re going up to your flat and getting takeaway from that Thai place down the street, unless you’ve decided to have an opinion about it.”

“No, no, that’s just fine.” 

Anathema breezed him out of the shop and shut the door behind them with a decisive snap.

“Why don’t you put the kettle on,” she said, leading him up the stairs to his own flat and then leveling him with a hard stare. “It’ll give you time to get your story straight.”

“I told you! I just... ran into him, that’s all. Gabriel, I mean,” Azra rushed to defend himself as he climbed the stairs behind her. “If it seems like I’m lying, it’s only because I’m _ embarrassed._” His face was bright red once again.

“You can tell me all about it over tea, and I can decide whether or not I believe you.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Azra insisted, unlocking the door and holding it open for her. “After you. I saw him and then I left!” 

“Left where? You were at his flat, weren’t you? I _ knew _ it.”

“No! It was on the street!”

“Which street?”

“Anathema, please! _ Why _ would I be lying?” 

“I don’t know yet,” Anathema admitted as she stalked past him into the sitting room and flopped down onto the couch. “I suppose it’s possible that you’re telling the truth, but I don’t know why you’d look so nervous if you were. There’s something off about your energy, too.”

“Well, you’re interrogating me!”

“Only because you look so guilty!”

“That’s very bad form, my dear,” Azra chided. “Please never turn to detective work.”

Anathema scoffed and crossed her arms. “As if. You know how I feel about law enforcement.”

“There’s always the private sector.”

“Would you just go boil your kettle? I’ll call to order the food. What do you want?” 

Azra sighed and shuffled off into the kitchen while Anathema scrolled through her mobile for the number. 

A muffled moan stilled her finger on the call button, and she lowered her phone with a frown. She was certain it hadn’t come from Azra.

“What was that?”

“_ That _ is the couple upstairs,” Azra groaned, and Anathema finally remembered he and Newt telling her what they’d heard when they were moving him into the flat in the first place. “They do this _ all the time _, I’m not sure they ever stop.”

“Have you told them you can hear them?”

“On several occasions and in several different ways,” Azra replied, resigned, as he walked into the sitting room to join her. “The man I spoke to seemed to find it all quite funny.”

“He sounds like an asshole,” Anathema said matter-of-factly and stood up decisively. “Maybe _ I _ should go up and tell him _ very very nicely. _”

“No!” Azra yelped, holding up his hands in a plea for her to sit back down. “No, it’s not worth it, they’ll only retaliate! Every time I speak to them, they just get louder.”

“How loud do you think they’d be without teeth?”

“Just as loud, I’m sure! Please, sit back down!”

Before she could argue further, they were interrupted by the squealing of the kettle.

“Are you going to get that?” Anathema asked pointedly.

“Are you going to sit back down?”

She held his stare for a moment before sighing and collapsing back on the sofa. “_ Fine _.”

“Thank you.” Azra scurried off to the kitchen and reappeared a few moments later with two mugs of tea. He handed one off to Anathema before settling on the sofa beside her. 

The moaning continued above them, and Anathema glared at the ceiling as she sipped her tea. “Would you like to tell me what happened between you and Gabriel?”

“I don’t think I heard you ordering any lunch,” Azra observed, as if he hadn’t heard her. “I believe you were interrupted by the noise. In fact, why don’t I just give them a call? What would you like?”

Anathema scowled. Azra wasn’t all cheerful innocence, he was also a master manipulator when it suited him. “Pad thai. With tofu.”

She watched as Azra waltzed back into the kitchen to make the call, seemingly pleased with himself. He was in for a rude awakening if he thought she was going to give up that easily.

When he finally came back and settled down next to her on the sofa, she rounded on him once more.

“So what happened?”

“The woman on the phone said it would be fifteen to twenty minutes.”

Anathema narrowed her eyes. “Oh, is this what we’re doing right now? Really?”

“I thought you were hungry,” Azra sniffed.

“Can you turn off your Pisces sun and Virgo rising for five fucking minutes please?”

“You know I don’t know what that means.”

“It means you’re a manipulative, controlling little shit but I’m not going to give up, so you might as well just level with me.”

Azra shifted against the sofa cushions and laced his fingers together, something that Anathema had come to recognize as a physical sign of his anxiety. 

“I just… I just saw him is all. Honestly,” he said. “I suppose I’m just a little bit… off-center.”

She snorted in response. “Off-center is your default state lately, honey.”

Azra scowled but didn’t argue. In fact, he didn’t say much of anything after that, and Anathema began to give up hope that she’d ever be able to wring the truth out of him, at least without a little bit of help.

“Fine,” she said curtly. “I’ll accept your boldfaced lie for now, but you’re going to have to appease me first.” She rifled through her bag and produced a deck of tarot cards. “Five cards, and I’ll shut up about it for the rest of the day.”

The two stared each other down for a long moment before Azra sighed, clearly deciding it was in his best interest. “Fine, alright.”

Anathema smiled as she slid the cards out of their box and passed them over to Azra. “Think about your question and shuffle them until you feel compelled to stop.”

He shot her a dubious look but did as she said, shuffling them for so long that she almost thought he was going to draw it out until the food arrived, but then he stopped and passed them back to her.

“Don’t look at me like that, I know you’re not a skeptic.”

“I’m not skeptical of the cards,” he sniffed. “I’m skeptical of your motives, dear.”

She rolled her eyes but leaned forward and, with a smooth sweeping motion, spread the deck out into a graceful arc on the coffee table. “Pick five cards.”

Azra shot her one more disparaging look before carefully making his selection. She watched as he leaned forward as well, worrying his fingers together as he peered at the blue and white patterned backs of her worn cards. When he finally pulled out the fifth card, he handed the much smaller stack to her, and she laid them out one by one in the order he had chosen them.

“So I’m just going to do a basic setup, and we’ll start with the first card which is representative of where you stand currently,” she said, giving Azra a brief explanation as she flipped over the card in question. A man under a tree, arms folded in front of him and ignoring the cups in front of him, as well as one being handed to him directly, looked up at her. She almost laughed.

“Well if this isn’t what I’ve been telling you for weeks, I don’t know what is,” she snorted. “The Four of Cups,” she added as an afterthought.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re an idiot.”

“Ah yes,” he said, pursing his lips. “Very helpful.”

“Look at the man under the tree,” she explained with a long suffering sigh. “He’s sitting there, moping and focused on what he doesn’t have, rather than seeing not only the three cups in front of him, but also the one that’s practically being shoved in his face. In short, he’s being a little bitch, and that little bitch is _ you. _”

“Do you normally berate your clients like this?”

“You’re a friend, not a client.”

“Lucky me.”

“Don’t you forget it. Anyway, if you want me to be nice, you can pay me.”

“This was your idea!” Azra protested.

“Yes,” Anathema said patiently. “But you’re the one asking for add-ons.”

Azra’s exasperated sigh was fond underneath the ire. “Just read the cards, please.”

Anathema set the card back down, face up, and turned her attention to the next. “The next one is representative of your current situation and,” she flipped it over and narrowed her eyes. “The Lovers.” She looked up to see Azra going pink around the ears. He really was a terrible liar. “This had better not be what it sounds like,” she warned.

“I’m certain it’s not,” Azra replied cryptically.

“Uh huh. But this is telling me that there’s a potential for love on the horizon but there’s something standing in the way—look at how they’re divided by the mountain,” she explained, pointing at the card. “There’s a strong connection between you and this person—and it better not be fucking Gabriel,” she warned, raising a stern eyebrow at him. “But to get past whatever the obstacle is in your path will require you making some hard choices. If you’ve got some mystery man and you’re not telling me I’m going to riot, by the way. And after everything I did for you with Gabriel too!”

“I don’t have a man, mystery or otherwise!” Azra protested so fiercely that Anathema was inclined to believe him. “Besides, it can’t be that literal.”

“Well not necessarily,” she acquiesced. “The relationship in question _ could _ be your relationship with yourself, I suppose. Something is telling me there’s an actual partnership involved, though,” she mused, “but we’ll see what the rest of the cards say. That should provide some more clarity.”

“Well then,” she said, barely resisting the urge to cackle as she flipped the third card over. “The obstacle in your way of achieving happiness in that partnership… Judgement reversed, starring your self-doubt, insecurity, and aforementioned refusal to take hold of what’s right in front of you. Not to mention a cameo by none other than the Archangel Fucking Gabriel himself.” She stabbed her finger towards the figure on the card. “Even the universe knows you’re lying to me about Gabriel.”

“Well, by that logic, if this is about ignoring the call of the Archangel Gabriel, then the universe is clearly on my side.”

“No, the universe is _ calling you out _ because it’s not his call you’re supposed to be ignoring.” She paused. “The Archangel Gabriel, I mean, not ex-Gabriel. Although if he’s as much of a prick as the one we’re gifted with here on earth, feel free to disregard him, too.” When Azra did nothing more than huff an exasperated sigh, she continued more seriously.

“Really though, this card is telling you that you’re too busy playing it safe. The call here is the freedom that you’ve been granted by Gabriel doing you a favor and getting the hell out of your life. The universe is trying to offer you something huge right now, but you’re too focused on carrying on same as always and hoping that the reality of it will go away, but it’s not going to. It’s just going to keep on getting bigger and harder to ignore until you can move past your self doubt and take a fucking chance, Azra.”

Azra had a look on his face that Anathema, in her years of professional experience, had come to associate with the look of someone who was having their ass handed to them by the cosmic divine and was _ not _ happy about it. It might just be one of her favorite things in the world.

“Gee, isn’t this fun?” she asked, reaching for the next card. 

“Riveting,” Azra said flatly. “Goodness, where _ is _ our lunch?”

“Hasn’t been twenty minutes yet, and that’s not going to get you out of this anyway. We’re almost finished,” she said cheerfully. “Your next card should give you some indication of how to move forward with all this.” She peered down at the card in her hand. “Two of Cups. In reverse, this card can indicate self-care, but yours is normal so it’s definitely about your,” she raised an eyebrow here, “interpersonal relationships. I’ll take that as confirmation that your Lovers was about a relationship with someone else rather than the one you have with yourself. In that context, you should work towards building your partnership. There’s a connection there already, something that makes you even more of an idiot than usual. You need to build it, going forward, if you want your final card — your outcome — to have any relevance at all,

“Outside of romance, the Two of Cups also has a strong affiliation to business partnerships. In conjunction with everything else. I normally wouldn’t bother bringing that up, but considering that you own a business, it could be relevant somehow. Since you won’t tell me what’s going on with you, and I _ strongly _ suspect despite your earlier outburst that you are, indeed, hiding a man from me, you can make of that what you will.”

Azra heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I told you, I haven’t got a man.”

“Fine,” Anathema conceded. “But it sure seems a lot to me like you want one. So I don’t know why you won’t let me set you up! My friend could _ be _ this guy the universe is trying to hand you!”

Azra’s face went white and then very, very red in quite short order. “I told you, I’m not interested in blind dates,” he stammered. “I don’t need anyone to hand me anything.”

“Azra, I really think you would like him… and he’d like you! You’re _ perfect _ for each other. What could one date hurt?”

He was looking uncomfortably at the Two of Cups, biting his lip, his fingers fidgeting in his lap. _ Something _ was off and she was dying to know what it was.

“I’m not ready,” he said finally. “What does the last card say?”

She shot him a sympathetic look and reached over to squeeze his hand. Maybe she was being too hard on him. “Alright,” she relented, and reached out to flip over the fifth and final card.

A rainbow arcing over an embracing couple looked back at her and she let out a long exhale.

“Well, don’t wait too long,” she said.

“What is it?”

“The potential outcome if you don’t completely ignore the message the universe is sending you. The Ten of Cups,” she explained. “The rainbow of cups represents a heavenly blessing and a sign that the hard times you’ve been facing are finally over. And look at the couple beneath it… Honestly, the cards couldn’t be more clear here, Azra. If you can get past the doubt and uncertainty and open yourself up to this person, whoever they are, there’s something beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an encouraging relationship reading in my life.”

Azra was looking anywhere but at her. “There is no person,” he said. “That’s the problem. It’s… _ complicated. _”

“Is there no person, or is it complicated? I don’t think it can be both.” Anathema returned the card to the table where it now sat in a line with the previous four. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

From the way his fingers fidgeted in his lap and his lips pursed, she could tell that there very much _ was _ something to talk about.

“Azra—”

A few sharp knocks on the door cut off what was going to be a beautifully crafted monologue on the virtues of over-sharing with a close friend that would _ surely _ convince him to spill his guts.

“Ah!” Azra leapt to his feet. “That’ll be our lunch.”

He hurried off to the door and Anathema scowled at his back as she replaced the deck of cards in their case. That, she supposed, was the end of that. She thought the likelihood of persuading him back to that topic of conversation was probably pretty low, especially considering the arrival of a good pad thai.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we hope you enjoyed - we'd love to hear your feedback! feel free to leave a comment and/or come say hi on tumblr!!
> 
> [@enbyziraphale](https://enbyziraphale.tumblr.com) and [@artist-formerly-known-as-crawley](https://artist-formerly-known-as-crawley.tumblr.com).
> 
> We've started chapter nine, but with the holidays and travel I'm not sure if we'll be done by next Wednesday, but we'll see you soon!


	9. Missed You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azra is anxious about how things ended last time, and Crowley is getting increasingly tense about Angel missing their weekly call. Another chance encounter occurs and a question is asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all - first off, thanks to everyone SO MUCH for both your patience and all the lovely comments. I'm sorry we haven't had time to go in and reply to everyone individually, but please know that every time we see a notification come in about them and read them, they really do make our day. We definitely fell off the weekly update wagon pretty quickly once we ran out of the chapters we wrote before we started publishing lmao, but we do promise we aren't abandoning this fic!! We just can't commit to a regular updating schedule anymore, and we appreciate how understanding y'all have been about it!
> 
> SECOND: We've had this one finished for a little bit now, but we were hesitant to post it. With everything else going on in the world it felt like posting fic might be kind of inappropriate, but ultimately we decided giving folks something that they can take a rest with before going back out to continue fighting the good fight, may be worthwhile too. So here's chapter nine!
> 
> If you have the ability, I urge you to please continue making donations to the various bail funds and organizations supporting Black Lives Matter, as well as directly to QTBIPOC who are in need of financial assistance. Us white people especially need to be supporting these people while they are still alive, and not just only in death. I'm sure you've seen a lot of these links going around, but here's a few to start with! And keep an eye out for personal donation requests that go around - I see them on social all the time, they're not hard to find.
> 
> [The Nina Pop and Tony McDade Mental Health Recovery Funds - include a note saying "Nina Pop" or "Tony McDade"](paypal.me/theokraproject)
> 
> [Ways to help, including donation links, anti-racist resources, and how to donate if you have no money by watching videos on youtube](paypal.me/theokraproject)

Thursday came and went, and Azra hadn’t called. 

He’d spent a majority of Wednesday with his heart in his throat, anxiety coloring his every movement and interaction until he’d given up completely and closed up shop early. He felt like the worst kind of fool. 

No matter what Dante had said, something had been wrong. Something to do with him, he was sure, because when wasn’t it? He’d probably crossed a line, made Dante uncomfortable somehow, and he’d been wracking his brain over and over trying to remember the moment he’d misstepped. Even Anathema had noticed something off about him, and her rapidly drawn conclusion that it was something to do with Gabriel was a workable lie to keep her preoccupied, but he couldn’t preoccupy himself.

Thursday was no better. The prospect of calling Dante, the prospect of _ bothering _ him, was too much. The steady ticking of his old grandfather clock in his otherwise lifeless flat scraped against the inside of his skull like nails. Every second brought him closer to what would, he was sure, be a terrible and awkward conversation. Dante would coo and purr and do everything he usually did, but Azra would know, deep down, that it was a chore. That Dante didn’t want to talk to him. That Dante was likely thinking of a thousand ways to put Azra even further at arm’s length after his transgression. That Dante didn’t even _ like _ him.

He didn’t think he could bear it. 

Anathema’s reading certainly hadn’t made anything better. Outwardly, she had been nothing but encouraging, but it had been much too easy to overthink everything she’d said. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from applying each and every card he’d drawn to the mess he’d made of things with Dante, and with his own latent (not really that latent at all, actually,) feelings towards him.

That was the crux of the problem, most likely. Azra had let too much slip, had come to care too much for a man he’d never met, a man whose job it was to treat him kindly and make him feel special, and he hadn’t been able to hide it in the heat of his own passion. Dante must have heard it in his voice. He had to know.

He’d spent hours in the back room of his shop, palming the phone between hands until the plastic casing was almost hot beneath them. He’d even managed to work up the courage to dial the beginning of the number several times, but he’d never been able to finish. He couldn’t shake the idea that Dante was dreading receiving his phone call just as much as he was dreading making it.

It was the first time in months that he’d spent a Thursday alone, and he hadn’t managed anything close to a good night’s sleep. The heavy footsteps and what had sounded like a series of items being picked up and slammed down that only increased in frequency as the night dragged on from his upstairs menace hadn’t helped with that. He needed a very strong cup of tea or, more realistically but tragically less attainable considering the hour, a very strong drink. 

In lieu of something stronger, the unopened bottle of wine he had been saving for a special occasion would have to do. Uncorking it with a sigh, he settled in to drain the bottle alone.

Friday morning found him unlocking the doors to the bookshop with a heavy set to his shoulders, and wondering why he always seemed to ruin things. It was a slow morning, and a slight pounding behind his temples meant he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and hide.

Normally, Azra enjoyed the calm of Friday mornings. The evening rush helped to pass the time, but there was something he loved about tidying the shop and enjoying a cup of tea on his own. Today however, he was somehow simultaneously full of restless energy and bone deep exhaustion.

Minutes ticked away like hours, and by the time he was finished reshelving a few returns from the previous day, he expected to look up and find that it was well past three. It was barely noon. 

He looked around the shop helplessly for a moment, as if hoping that something to do would suddenly materialize before him. When nothing did, he heaved a resigned sigh and made his way back over to the front desk. It was nearly lunch time, maybe he could pass some time in pursuit of a meal.

As he bent down to pull out his trusty envelope of takeout menus however, the bell above the door jingled merrily. The man who sauntered through it was _ significantly _ less merry.

“D’you got any magazines here?” Mr. Crowley looked worse than Azra had ever seen him, not that he had much to compare it to. His hair was mussed, and his scowl was… well _ that _ was familiar. He had deep circles under his eyes that were even visible where they peered out from underneath his sunglasses, and looked rather like he’d thrown on the first articles of clothing his hands had encountered. He was bedraggled, exhausted, and smelled faintly of whiskey.

Azra wondered if he knew where he was, given their animosity toward each other.

“Er,” he began, side stepping awkwardly around the counter as his hands met at his waist. “I don’t generally carry them, no. I do have some National Geographics and the like though, if that… suits your fancy?”

“You haven’t got any…” Mr. Crowley waved his hand vaguely. “Cosmo or People or anything fluffier like that?”

“Cosmo?” Azra asked, wrinkling his nose slightly. “As in the women’s fashion magazine?”

Mr. Crowley’s scowl deepened. “It’s not a woman’s magazine if I buy it, is it? It would be _ mine_. Now I’ve had a rough night, absolute _ shit_, and I’m looking for some fucking levity. Is that alright with you?”

Azra softened, only slightly, and wondered if all that banging around the night before had been the result of some sort of spat with whoever it was Mr. Crowley had been seeing. He could relate, after all.

“Oh, of course, I… I didn’t mean to be rude. I haven’t got any tabloids or the like but I do have a few issues of Practical Photography perhaps?” he suggested, gauging Mr. Crowley’s reaction for any interest. The grimace he received in return wasn’t encouraging. “Or maybe,” he mused, wandering over to the section of coffee table books. They were usually only ever bought as a last minute birthday or holiday gift for people’s mothers, but may actually be helpful in this circumstance as well.

He scanned over the selection of titles, some featuring the works of famous photographers or musicians, some about art, architecture, and then… he knew it was only catching his eye because of Dante, but he reached out to pick one up titled _ Leaf Supply_. Of course, he would never recommend a book geared towards plant novices to Dante, but this was Mr. Crowley.

“A nice coffee table book about plants?” He asked, holding the book up so Mr. Crowley could see it. “House plants can be quite soothing, or so I’m told.”

Mr. Crowley’s face was a mixture of emotions that Azra didn’t quite know how to place, and he managed to both glare at the book and snort in amusement at the same time. All the same, Mr. Crowley plucked the book from his hands and thumbed through it with something that just barely bordered on interest. 

“Ring it up,” he said, pushing it back into Azra’s hands. “It’s better than nothing.”

“Alright,” Azra replied, taking the book and watching Mr. Crowley as he stalked back to the till with a strange look on his face. As rude as he was, Azra still felt badly for him and did his best to offer a small smile as he rang in the price of the book. “I don’t want to pry,” he said, wondering if he should have kept his mouth shut, “but I’m sorry you’re having a rough go of it today. It’ll all work out in the end, I’m sure.”

“It really won’t,” Mr. Crowley muttered, pulling a credit card out of his pocket and handing it over. “It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s over clearly.”

Ah, so he had been right in assuming a breakup. 

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Azra said sincerely, handing Mr. Crowley’s card back with his receipt. “Would you like a bag?”

“M’just going back upstairs. Spare the dolphin.” Mr. Crowley stuffed the receipt and the card back into his pocket then slid the book off the counter. He situated it under his arm and left without another word.

As Azra watched Mr. Crowley leave, his sympathetic frown melted away and his shoulders slumped. The envelope of takeout menus lay forgotten on the counter, and he was back to thinking about Dante. It was an easy transition, really. Between the book of plants and Mr. Crowley’s clear distress regarding his relationship, Dante wasn’t a far jump. He never was, these days, even before Azra had gone and ruined everything. 

The incoming wave of familiar stomach-knotting distress was put on hold by the sudden tinkling of the bell above the door. His over thinking would have to be put on hold, if the loud group of university students coming through the door had anything to say about it.

“How can I help you?” he asked, significantly more cheerful than he felt, and was very shortly plunged into a small scavenger hunt through the shop for a list of vaguely obscure titles the group needed for an upcoming course.

By the time he’d rung the last one of them out, the afternoon trickle began to transform into an all out rush that propelled him through the rest of the day. He hardly had time to think, let alone worry about Dante, and it was only the angry rumble of his stomach that reminded him of the takeout menus on his counter close to closing time. The realization that, if he ordered now, it would be ready by the time he had finished up was enough motivation to power through.

Finally, after the last customers had shuffled out and the delivery person had left his dinner, he flipped the sign on the door to ‘closed’ and heaved a sigh. It had been a long day, not just because of the rush, and the prospect of shuffling up the stairs to his wide and empty flat wasn’t especially appealing. Although, he thought, perhaps a little unkindly, at least Mr. Crowley’s personal issues meant he might actually manage a decent night’s sleep.

Still, he retired to the back room of the shop and settled in on the little sofa, spreading his meal out on the little coffee table and tucking in.

It didn’t take long before thoughts of Dante began to seep back in through the quiet. If only he could figure out what he had done wrong. It had all seemed like it was going so well until the very end, and he wished that Dante had just told him. He was always so wonderful about respecting Azra’s boundaries, and the idea that he may have unwittingly crossed one of Dante’s left him furious with himself.

He just wanted to apologize, and wished he knew what for.

Would an apology be bothersome? Their usual interaction, he was sure, would be entirely too far to press Dante but it couldn’t hurt to tell him he was sorry, could it? Especially if he made it clear that he wouldn’t be imposing any further interactions on him. That was common courtesy, wasn’t it? 

It would be simple. Short. There might not even be time for Azra to hear the note of disgust in Dante’s voice when he realized who he was talking to.

So it was decided, he thought, straightening his coat out of nervous habit. He only stared at the phone for a moment before shaking off the hesitation. His mind was made up. He had told Mr. Crowley that it would all work out in the end, and if he could say that to someone as rude as his landlord, the least he could do was offer the same courtesy to himself.

With a nod, he crossed over to the register where the phone hung on the wall, and picked it up. He could hear the dial tone as if the sound was being amplified by his nerves, but with a deep, calming breath, he punched the number into the phone. It was pure muscle memory by now, and he found that there was something soothing about giving into it.

The phone rang in his ear, and he remembered the first time he stood here, anxiously listening to the same ringing, afraid and unsure of what he would hear on the other end of the line. He felt quite the same listening to it now.

“Thanks for calling.” Dante’s voice cut through the ringing, but instead of the usual warmth, he sounded flat and distant. “Your pleasure is my business.”

Dante must have had caller ID, or at least some way of identifying him. It was worse than he thought, and the little bolt of panic that shot through him nearly forced him to rip the phone away from his ear and hang up. It had been a stupid idea, anyway.

“Hello?” Dante said, filling the silence.

Azra felt frozen on the spot. Why couldn’t things have stayed the way they were, when Dante’s voice greeting him was soothing rather than terrifying?

But he had called for a reason, and even if Dante never wanted to speak to him again, he was at least going to apologize.

“Er… Hello, Dante,” he managed to choke out.

\--

Thursday came and went, and Angel hadn’t called. 

When their usual time had rolled past without so much as a ring in his ear, he’d begun to panic, a state that continued and seemed to worsen as more time passed. 

He’d stayed up well past his usual hours, ringing in the dawn of a new day with half a bottle of whiskey and whatever else he’d been able to choke down from his liquor cabinet until he passed into a fitful sleep. Even a drunken stupor hadn’t been enough to cool his pressing anxiety and daylight saw him down to his least favorite tenant’s bookshop in search of something diverting.

The houseplant book was far below his expertise but he’d enjoyed reading the particularly stupid bits out loud to George and complaining to the uninterested reptile about anything and everything he could find to nitpick until he’d hit the back cover. 

The prospect he’d been trying to avoid had wormed its way back in after that, that he’d Spectacularly Fucked Up Very Spectacularly Badly and that Angel wasn’t going to call back. He’d let himself go too far, crossed one of Angel’s many very prickly and heavily fortified boundaries, and he’d lost him.

He tried to convince himself it was for the best. If anything, it was a kindness. Anathema had been right, all that would happen if they kept this up is that Crowley would keep making himself miserable. Angel would eventually slip away, meet someone, move away, lose interest, _ whatever_, and Crowley would be dealing with significantly more than occasional chest pangs and restless anxiety. 

That evening, he threw himself into work, drawing out calls as long as he could possibly manage to fill the empty hours, but his heart wasn’t in it and it reflected in his performance. He was considering packing it in for the night when the headset toned in his ear.

“Thanks for calling.” He was sure he sounded like shit, but he thought he could stumble through one more call if he had to. Besides, he’d already answered. “Your pleasure is my business.”

He was met with silence, and thought for a moment that God had been merciful and his caller hadn’t stayed on, but he was nothing if not a top-notch moron and an uncertain ‘Hello?’ was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“Er… Hello, Dante,” a stilted, timid voice uttered in his ear.

_ It couldn’t be. _

“Angel?” Crowley managed to choke out in response, stunned almost into silence, but the wave of relief washing over him was palpable and he sagged back against the sofa. “I missed you yesterday.” It was soft and entirely more honest than he meant it to sound, but it was out before he could think about it.

“No, I…” Angel began, but seemed to reconsider his course. “You don’t need to lay it on, dear. I’m only calling to apologize.”

Crowley’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Apologize?” What on earth did Angel have to apologize for? If anything, Crowley should be the one begging Angel’s forgiveness for allowing himself to get too involved the last time they spoke.

“Yes, I… I’m not sure what happened, but I must have said something wrong. Everything felt so different at the end of the call, and I’m afraid I must have upset you.”

So it was exactly as Crowley suspected, even if he’d been a little bit off in his reasoning. He’d fucked everything up. “It was nothing to do with you, Angel.”

The voice on the other end of the line fell silent, and he tensed, waiting.

“If that’s the case,” Angel started, and Crowley could practically feel his hesitance to continue. “And I hate to pry, but what happened?” he finally asked, the last word coming out awkward and delayed.

It was Crowley’s turn to hesitate. A thousand different lies sparked to life and died in his mind all at once and he sighed, looking down to where his pale fingers were splayed against the dark leather of the sofa. If Angel caught him out in a lie, he’d only redouble the blame he’d already laid on himself and Crowley might actually lose him for good this time. That wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.

“I lost control of myself, that’s all,” he admitted finally. If the universe were merciful, Angel wouldn’t ask for details. It was difficult enough to admit a shortcoming. He didn’t think he’d survive the mortifying idea of having it picked apart. “More than… you know, more than I usually do. When we talk, I mean.” 

Angel didn’t reply immediately, and with each moment of silence, Crowley’s heart clenched tighter with anxiety. His confession had been intentionally vague, and a part of him felt guilty. He was sure that Angel deserved more from him than he was getting, but despite Anathema’s encouragement, he wasn’t ready.

“Alright…” Angel eventually replied, his voice thoughtful, and while he didn’t seem particularly _ satisfied _ with the response, he had never been one to push Crowley for more than he wanted to give. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like that would be changing now.

“Are we? Alright, I mean.” Crowley wasn’t sure he’d be able to bear it if they weren’t, but he had to know for sure. 

“We are,” Angel said, and Crowley released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I’m sorry if I worried you.”

“Don’t sweat it, Angel.” Crowley had done more than enough sweating for the both of them. “‘M just happy you called.”

There was another long silence between them, and Crowley wasn’t sure how to interpret it. It seemed like things were okay… Angel _ said _they were okay, but if that was the case, then why did things still feel so different?

“I’m glad I did as well,” he finally said, and some of the tension in Crowley’s shoulders released. “So… how was your week?” he ventured, still sounding off and uncomfortable, and Crowley laughed.

“My week’s been pretty shit, actually. My favorite client didn’t call and I missed him.” It was dangerously close to the truth, but Crowley was confident that Angel wouldn’t see the admission as anything more than job-related flirting.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Angel said kindly. “I hope he calls soon.”

Crowley laughed again. “Don’t be obtuse, Angel, you know I was talking about you.”

He could practically hear the blush that must be forming on Angel’s cheeks right now.

“Did you call just to apologize and ask how my week was, or…?” Crowley teased. “Or did you have anything else in mind?”

“I hadn’t really expected to get this far, if I’m being honest, dear. I rather expected to apologize and, perhaps, be told to bugger off.”

“I’d never tell you to bugger off, Angel, I’d tell you to bugger _ me_.”

“_ Really. _ That’s a bit much, even for you.” Crowley grinned, imagining Angel’s eyes rolling, but he’d also bet that he was smiling, and that was worth the stupid come on. 

“Not one of my best, I’ll give you that.”

“You’re supposed to be a professional, and that’s the best you can come up with?” Angel teased.

“I didn’t have much of a jumping off point, you know.” 

“Well, you know what they say,” Angel replied loftily. “It’s a poor craftsman who blames his tools.”

“My tool is more than adequate, thank you,” Crowley sniffed. 

“Are you finished?”

“If you insist,” Crowley said, sighing dramatically. “But how else will I keep myself entertained?”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” Angel said, and Crowley could feel the warmth in his tone. It twisted in his gut like a knife. He shoved the budding vulnerability back down where it belonged and instead, turned on the charm.

“Not on my own,” he purred. “Maybe you can help me? I play much better with others.”

“I’m not sure how I could possibly help,” Angel said, and, _ god, _was he playing coy?

“I thought I was the one who was supposed to be the tease here, Angel.”

“Turnabout is fair play, my dear.”

“‘S’at so? Well, I suppose I’ll do the British thing and carry on. Stiff upper lip and all that. Do your worst.”

Angel laughed. “You’re being ridiculous,” he said, sounding delighted all the same. 

“You’re right, I’m absolutely _ spiraling_. I might be due for a distraction.” Crowley sunk further into the sofa, savoring the back and forth between them. They were settling back into their pattern, and god, to think he could have _ lost _ this. It wasn’t until it had disappeared that he fully understood how important the banter and… well, friendship wasn’t the right word, considering his feelings, but _ relationship _ made it sound like much more than it was… 

Well, regardless. The ‘whatever it was’ that they had was important to him. Perhaps dangerously so, if the prospect of losing it had done so much damage. It didn’t bear thinking about, especially not now. He could deconstruct that later without the tempting distraction of Angel’s voice in his ear.

“Well, that’s certainly something we can arrange,” Angel replied, still sounding posh and refined, but there was more there, holding back just out of reach, and Crowley just wanted to draw it back out of him. “But whatever did you have in mind?”

“I can think of a few activities that may still my mind and engage other aspects of my anatomy,” Crowley murmured. “Although I think we both may be overdressed.”

-

It didn’t take long for Dante to get Azra flushed and sweating on the little backroom sofa. His jacket and waistcoat were draped carefully over the back of it but his shirt was mussed and unbuttoned, tugged haphazardly out of his trousers which were unbuttoned as well and shoved down his hips. His hand was wrapped around his cock as Dante murmured into his ear through the telephone.

“I’ll never get over the way you feel in my hand, Angel,” he purred, and Azra could practically feel the heat of his breath on his skin. “I could spend an eternity just touching you.”

Azra didn’t think he’d survive more than ten minutes of this sort of attention. 

“Dante, _ please, _” he gasped.

“Please what, darling? Tell me what you need.”

As Azra let out a whine in return, Dante hummed again, and Azra imagined him smirking indulgently at him. He sounded so put together, while Azra felt completely torn apart, it was maddening.

“Hm,” Dante continued, and he was clearly enjoying this entirely too much. “Maybe it’s my mouth you want? My lips wrapped around that beautiful cock?”

The image itself was almost too much, and Azra moaned again but steadied himself with a deep breath and fingers wrapped tight around the base to stop him from letting himself go just yet.

“Let me feel _ you_, please,” he managed. “I want you to feel as good as I do.”

“Oh but I do. I always feel good when I get to do this for you.”

Azra shifted against the rough fabric of the sofa and tossed his head back in mild frustration as he tightened his grip on himself. “Not, not like that, I... I want to do something for you too. I want to get my hands on you. Take you apart the way you do for me.”

There was a moment of silence cut only by the sound of his own ragged breathing and the roar of his own heartbeat in his ears.

“Anything you want, Angel,” Dante said finally, his voice just a touch more thick than it had been before.

“You’re always so good to me,” Azra intoned, finally gaining control of himself and his voice was hushed and gentle. “The way you make me feel… I want you to feel it too. I want to touch you, feel you fall apart in my hands while I wrap my fingers around you.”

Dante’s answering groan was so soft that Azra nearly missed it. “Touch me. I’m all yours.”

“That’s right,” he murmured, encouraging. “You look so beautiful like this, and so responsive. I love those noises you make.”

As if on command, another soft sound escaped Dante and Azra couldn’t quite believe that Dante was putting him on. He was certainly an accomplished actor, but even he couldn’t layer those little whimpers with such intensity on purpose. If Azra had been a bit more in control of himself, he might have deconstructed that realization a little bit further. As it stood, the farthest his focus could extend was to an all consuming desire to drag out more of that quiet desperation. 

“There we go,” he continued. “You feel so good in my hands… Lay back for me?” He asked, eyes closed and imagining Dante leaning back as Azra shifted into place between his legs.

“You fit so perfectly against me,” Dante breathed. Azra imagined arms locking around him, holding him in place while Dante reveled in the press of his body. “Like you were made just for me.”

“That’s it,” Azra hummed. “You’re so lovely… where to even begin? I’ll need to get you ready for me, of course. I could run my hands over your flawless skin all evening, but that won’t help for what I’d like to do to you.”

He smiled softly as Dante groaned in response, and continued, shivering at the sound as he touched himself.

“I wonder how you’d take it if I were to press a finger up against you?” he mused, feigning an almost detached curiosity. “I’d warm up some lube between my fingers and rub circles against you and just wait for those muscles to relax. How long would it take until you were begging to feel me inside you?”

Dante’s breathing had kicked up, rasping in Azra’s ear almost as sharply as his own had just moments before. “N-Not long,” he managed. “Angel, please. I’m yours.”

Azra heaved an appreciative moan at the combination of his hand on his own cock and the image of Dante before him, pliant and pleading. “Of course, you don’t have to beg me for anything, my dear,” he reassured Dante. “Whatever you want is yours to have. I wish I could watch your face as I worked you open - how does it feel?”

“I. It’s. Hngk, _ fuck Angel. _ I can’t… your _ hands. _” 

Azra wasn’t sure he had ever heard Dante stumbling over anything the way he was stumbling now. It was both incredibly gratifying and incredibly arousing, and he couldn’t stop himself from stroking his hand over himself once more in response. 

“Are you touching yourself?” he asked. “Pretending it’s my fingers inside you instead of yours?”

“Wish it was,” Dante moaned. “W-want, _ need _ your hands on me, Angel.”

“How many fingers are you using?” Azra prompted.

The sound Dante made was nearly inhuman. “T-t-two,” he choked

“Can you add one more for me?”

-

Crowley was drowning. He was choking on sensation, burning with the heat of Angel’s voice and the imagined weight of his hands, all while the man’s voice whispered gentle, and sweet in his ears. He was embarrassingly close, and for the first time in this whole mess, he found that he didn’t care.

Obeying, he pressed a third finger against the slick muscle and, rubbing gently at the rim, slid it slowly inside along the others, working them in tandem with Angel’s slow, steady voice. It was overwhelming and Crowley was quickly losing what little control he had left.

“A-Angel,” he warned breathlessly. “I’m not going to last.”

“I think you can.” Angel’s voice was surprisingly steady. “Just for a little bit longer.”

“Nghkk, Angel. Angel, please. I n-need…” 

“What is it?” Angel asked, and Crowley could just _ see _ the maddening, indulgent smile he must be wearing. “What do you need, my dear?”

“You. All of you. _ Please. _” 

“You have me,” Angel breathed, and Crowley threw his head back and groaned as he imagined Angel’s weight above him and the stinging stretch of finally, _ finally _ getting what he needed.

“Wish I did. Need you h-here, Angel. C-Can’t, can’t keep doing this.” Had Crowley been a bit more in control, he might have kicked himself for being so candid. As it stood, he barely even knew what he was saying. 

“I’m here, Dante. I’m right here with you.”

Crowley shook his head but couldn’t form the words to explain what he meant. He was too close to falling over the edge, a thin wire pulled taut and close to snapping. “Close,” he warned again, the fingers of his free hand trembling as they moved to wrap around his cock. 

“Then let go, Dante.”

Crowley didn’t need to be told twice. His climax ripped through him, like the string of a violin that was tuned too tightly and snapped with the pressure. He cried out, throwing his head back against the arm of the sofa as his back arched with the intensity of it. 

He was lost in the haze of it, barely conscious of the short gasps and moans Angel was making in his ear as he joined Crowley in completion. 

“Angel,” he groaned quietly, when he could manage it. “That was…”

“Quite,” was Angel’s breathless reply, and Crowley could have laughed.

Crowley let himself melt into the cushions, relishing in the sound of Angel’s slowly steadying breaths. He didn’t want Angel to hang up, not now, and the way the man didn’t make any move to speak made him almost hope that he wasn’t the only one. He allowed his breath to align with Angel’s, and closed his eyes.

For a moment, it felt like Angel was there with him.

“Hey, Angel?” he started, the question starting before he could stop himself, and he paused in a panic.

“Yes?” the prompt came softly when he didn’t continue, and he took a deep breath.

He supposed he could still turn back now, come up with something else and pretend the thought never entered his mind but… 

“Would you… would you like to have dinner? With me. In person, I mean.” He paused for a second as his frantically beating heart leapt into his throat. “I don’t. I mean, I, erm, I don’t do this. Ever. What we just did. And I’ve never wanted to, and never wanted to get dinner with _ anyone_, but I… I’d like to meet you if you wanted—” he swallowed hard, “wanted the same thing?”

This time, the silence on the other end of the line was deafening.

“Dante, I…” Angel started, and Crowley immediately felt sick.

“S’alright, Angel, no harm, no foul!” he insisted, cutting him off with the most upbeat tone of voice he could manage, not wanting to hear the rejection. “I shouldn’t’ve asked. It was just a thought.”

“No, its not… it’s not that I don’t _ want _ to, Dante, I just—”

“No need to explain yourself, Angel.”

“I mean it though, I want to. I do. I just… can’t.” Angel finished, and the obvious turmoil in his voice twisted like a knife in Crowley’s stomach.

“I understand,” Crowley said, even though he didn’t. Not really. “Stupid of me to ask. M’sorry. Sometimes I don’t think.”

“Dante—”

“It’s really alright, Angel. Don’t you fret about me. I ought to be off, and you should save your pennies. Call me next week?”

“Of course,” Angel said after a beat, as if deciding to let go of whatever else he was going to say. 

“Well, until then,” Crowley said, more brightly than he felt. “Have a good week, Angel.”

“You too, Dante.”

The line went dead in his ear and Crowley ripped the earpiece off, letting it fall where he dropped it over the edge of the sofa. “Fuck,” he said, burying his face in his hands. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. You absolute stupid fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we hope you enjoyed - we'd love to hear your feedback! feel free to leave a comment/say hello!!
> 
> we're not sure when the next update will be, but rest assured we aren't abandoning the fic!


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